


Between the Lines

by GraciousK



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Invisibility, Canon Compliant, Cockblocking, Falling In Love, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Build, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraciousK/pseuds/GraciousK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment they meet, Dean can't get Cas out of his head - but little does he know how close a fantasy is to a prayer. These strange new prayers affect Castiel in a way that angels shouldn't even be capable of. The result is what you see on the show: an angel falls, and a man rises to the occasion.</p><p>This canon-compliant fic fills in Destiel "missing scenes" during Seasons 4-6, following the rise and fall of their relationship during the Apocalypse. Smutty as hell and so much more. Please enjoy the first installment of my Supernatural headcanon masterwork!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voyeurism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place sometime between "Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester" (S4E2) and "Monster Movie" (S4E5).

Dean was good at being subtle, from years of practice. The blanket covering him from chest to toes was nearly still - you'd have to be paying close attention to see the very slight rhythmic movement made by Dean's fist around his cock.

The movement was obvious to Castiel, who stood a silent, invisible watch. He thought back to the words of his brother, Michael. _The righteous man who will decide the fate of all Creation,_ Michael called him, and Castiel reflected upon the gravity of that declaration. _He must be protected, at all costs. If he is in need, you must be by his side._

Castiel doubted this was the sort of need his brother anticipated.

Dean's subtlety was dropping, the center of the blanket popping up with each pass of his hand. Dean's mouth opened and closed but no sound passed his lips. Dean’s thoughts radiated from him like sunshine, all of which featured Castiel’s vessel, or as Dean thought of him, _Cas_ : imagining his lips rasping against stubble where Cas's jaw met his neck, Cas's fly unzipped and hard cock out with the trenchcoat and tie still on, Cas's eyelids fluttering closed as he growled a moan of pleasure.

If Castiel were observable by human eyes, one might have called his expression impassive. If his brothers or sisters could see him, they'd notice the signs of prurient interest in an instant. Castiel had seen the masturbatory act performed countless times, and the sexual activities of humans had long since lost their novelty. However, this time it was personal, in a way that it had never been before. Perhaps it was the intimate knowledge that came from restoring the wholeness of Dean Winchester’s body from dry bones and scraps of decayed flesh, a body which tensed and stretched before him in an unexpectedly pleasing way. Perhaps it was because Dean was thinking of _him_ while he pleasured himself, a novelty which Castiel found intriguing. Or perhaps it was the contradiction in terms, of the righteous man engaging in such a base carnal act. In any case Castiel was transfixed by the sights and sounds as Dean rapidly approached orgasm.

Dean strained to prevent his hips from bucking up, stroking himself fast. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, and he had to hold his breath to stifle his gasps. Dean had settled on a fantasy, of Cas on his knees with his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock, Dean's hands in his hair. Dean was close now, so close, his back arching, giving up the pretense of subtlety. He imagined Cas's tongue working his dick while he fucked between Cas’s thick lips... and when he thought of ocean-blue eyes looking up at him, Dean came hard. His whole body jerked once, then twice, before the crest passed.

Dean lay still for a long minute before he turned his head to assess Sam. He spent another minute watching Sam before he convinced himself that his brother was sleeping the whole time. A sour feeling crept into Dean’s belly as he watched and waited – _what the hell was that all about?_

Post-orgasmic shame was almost as old as sex itself, and not nearly as pleasant to observe. Castiel took wing, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Dean reasoned with himself that there were three kinds of people who get into his personal space. The first kind are threats. People trying to kill him. The second is family - Dad, Sam, Bobby. Though half the time they got up in his space, they were trying to kill him too. Dean supposed he could lump them in with "threats". So that means, as far as Dean could recall, there's only one other type of person who invades his space like that. Chicks trying to get a piece.

That's gotta be the reason the angel had gotten into his head like this, Dean thought, using the sticky sheets to mop himself up.

Something about the angel’s close proximity had obviously set off some association deep in Dean's oversexed brain, maybe something about the big blue eyes, the almost-feminine thickness of the angel's lips, the tousled sex hair, and who the hell even has a voice that low? All together the guy was like something out of a frigging porno, no wonder it somehow connected with sex in Dean's head. Satisfied that he was at least mostly cleaned off, Dean zipped himself up, crumpled the bedclothes around the mess, and shoved it onto the floor.

"There's a bigger picture here," Castiel had said, and when he'd leaned in Dean had legitimately wondered if he was going to be kissed. But instead the angel had threatened him, and damn it, that throws Dean's "two categories" theory right out the window.

He'd been dreaming - did that matter? Dean wouldn't be surprised to learn that his subconscious thought everything had to do with sex. Especially since it's been so long since Dean had gotten laid. In fact, Dean realized he hadn't gotten any since he'd been raised from the pit. _Hell_ , he thought, _I'm practically a born-again virgin_. It would make sense, all things considered.

Dean rolled over, burying his face in the pillow, contemplating sleepily. The more he thought about it, the surer he felt that getting some tail would straighten him out. _Problem solved,_ Dean thought, and it was true enough to allow him to drift off into dreamland.


	2. Envy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place sometime between "Heaven and Hell" (S4E10) and "Death Takes a Holiday" (S4E15).

Dean is a sick, sorry son of a bitch sometimes, he thought to himself. He watched the last of the soap swirl down the drain and tried to ignore his stiffening dick. No one should be this turned on by fucking an angel.

Anna had said that sex was worth falling from heaven, and with the way she gave it to him, Dean could believe that entirely. Especially when she turned the tables and laid him out on his back, climbing on top of him and taking control of the pace. The look on her face - Dean sighed, remembering - how she watched him as she rode him. And then she paused, eyes catching the handprint on his shoulder. She pressed her hand to it and then she _really_ started to grind, as if the thought of him being pulled from Hell was an aphrodesiac.

Dean's thoughts turned to a different angel, one whose hand would fit the print perfectly, because he was the one who'd left it there.

Which was an even dirtier thought, scorching hot, making his dick so hard it ached. Dean glanced down, his eye catching on the little bottle of conditioner that sat in the shower to make the room look fancier. He used it to slick himself up before beginning to stroke at a good pace, letting his mind wander.

* * *

Castiel felt a tug in the corner of his mind, recognizing it immediately as Dean. He turned to Uriel. "The righteous man is praying for my presence," he said. He concentrated on the prayer, realizing only after he'd spoken that its nature was more carnal than spiritual. The best path would be to ignore the pull of Dean's thoughts, to tell Uriel that it was a passing fancy... however, Castiel found himself reluctant to do so. The garrison appeared well-equipped to handle this seal. They would not miss his presence. Instead, Castiel asked, "May I answer him?"

Uriel's mouth tightened.  "Go.  See what he desires of us.  Return as soon as you can."

Castiel hesitated, knowing already what Dean desired of him. "Amen." He departed swiftly, cloaking himself from human senses before arriving in the motel bathroom.  Dean's thoughts were much clearer now, and Castiel sucked in a sudden breath as he observed.

* * *

If Cas was fucking him, would he cover Dean's scar with his own hand? Would he look down at Dean like Anna did? No, Dean decided, the way Anna looked at him was affectionate, almost loving, even a little sad. Cas wasn't like Anna; he was a _dude_ , all rough around the edges with a voice like molten lead. He would be more wanton, burning with the need to shove his virgin dick into a warm, wet hole. Where Anna was soft, Cas would be hard, and _Jesus Christ_ how fucking hot it would be to really deflower an angel. Dean let out a grunt, tightening his fist around his slippery cock, imagining lust breaking through Cas's stoic demeanor. His pace quickened as his mind spun a fantasy of Cas shoving Dean onto his back, tearing his clothes off with supernatural strength, and _oh fuck_ all the unholy things the angel would do once Dean was prone and naked underneath him.

* * *

As Dean pumped his erection, Castiel contemplated Dean's fantasies, having a mixed reaction to the parallels between himself and the fallen angel. Perhaps they did have more in common than Castiel would like to admit. An undeniable fondness for Dean Winchester, for one. To think that Anna had placed her hand over the mark left on Dean, while the two of them were engaged in intercourse... Castiel wasn't sure what to make of that. An unfamiliar sensation coiled in Castiel's chest. He tried to ignore it, refocusing his attention on Dean.

Castiel could hear the blood rushing through Dean's veins, feel Dean's nerves firing under his skin, see the minute shifts in the flush across Dean's chest, sense the constriction in the muscles at the base of Dean's penis. It was beautiful in the way that waterfalls and sunsets are beautiful, complex patterns shifting together in a natural harmony. The thoughts radiating from Dean's mind were also beautiful, in a way. The acts which Dean imagined were acts of love, intended by the Creator to bring humans together in familial bonds.

Castiel was not always certain that the warmth he felt towards the righteous man was returned. He couldn't help feeling connected to the man he'd knitted back together, the man Michael had instructed him to protect. Castiel was reassured by the focus of Dean's attentions during these moments of pleasure, suddenly glad that he'd answered Dean's call.

Castiel's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wingbeats, followed by a stern, deep voice. "Castiel." He turned away from the shower to face Uriel, who stood behind him.

"What are you doing?" Uriel asked, as a parent would ask a child caught drawing on the wall.

"I told you, I was summoned," Castiel said curtly.

"I suppose there's no question as to what he desires of us, then." Uriel stared, still as stone.  

The displeasure on Uriel's face only deepened as Dean breathed, "Fuck, Cas," just audible to angels' ears over the running water.

Uriel narrowed his eyes, becoming resentful that Castiel didn't even have the good sense to look ashamed. "This is the reason you were demoted, you know. Coveting is a sin, Castiel, and there's no other way to describe how you've been acting towards this  _man_." Uriel spat the word 'man' as if it were a curse. "Even worse, your coveting has led you to envy - one of the fallen, no less.  Castiel, you should be ashamed of yourself."

 _Envy_ , Castiel thought, and was distressed to realize it was true.  Anna had experienced sexual intimacy, while Castiel never had, and likely never would.  More than that, she had experienced sexual intimacy with  _Dean_  - the thought of which caused something to twist in the pit of Castiel's stomach.   _Envy_ , he thought again, and he was indeed ashamed.

"You are right, brother," Castiel admitted, knitting his eyebrows in a contrite expression. "We should leave."

"Indeed."

Uriel departed, and Cas moved to follow... until Dean moaned, "Cas," giving him pause. Castiel turned to see Dean thrusting his hips forward as his hand flew over his cock. "Cas," he moaned again, the first blast of come spurting over his fingers. "Cas," he whispered as he stroked through the orgasm, legs shaking.

Hearing his name escape from Dean's lips at the moment of climax made the knot in Castiel's gut unravel. There may be a covetous part of him, but knowing Dean Winchester's thoughts were already with him caused a peace to settle within as he took flight.


	3. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between "On the Head of a Pin" (S4E16) and "It's a Terrible Life" (S4E17).

Castiel could rationalize his visit, if he needed to justify it to his superiors. The heavenly host was to blame for Dean's injuries. Dean had been avoiding the hunt since his experiences with Alastair. That was reason for concern, and Castiel had a responsibility to the righteous man. However, those things didn't fully explain why Castiel lingered long after confirming that Dean was physically well.

Or why he why he specifically chose to visit while Dean was mid-shower, eyes closed under the hot spray, letting his mind wander.

If his garrison head demanded to know his reasons for _that_ , Castiel would have to admit that he found Dean's unclothed body to be a pleasing sight and he wanted to see Dean’s nakedness. He would have to acknowledge that he'd stayed because he peered into Dean's thoughts and saw that he featured prominantly, and that he hoped those thoughts would lead to fantasies, which would lead to orgasm.

He wanted to watch Dean pleasure himself again. He wanted to hear his name on Dean's lips as the righteous man spilled his seed.

Long minutes passed by without any suggestion of sexual thoughts, Dean's mind circling to Castiel at his hospital bedside, then wondering what it meant that the siren took a male form for him, and back again. Castiel began to wonder if his brothers may be right. If his attachment to Dean Winchester may be inappropriate. After all, it was one thing to respond to a summoning prayer, even if the prayer was unorthodox, even if the answer to the prayer must always be a silent  _no_  because any other answer would risk too much. It was quite another thing to watch with unprompted anticipation, hope rising in his chest.

But- _there!_ The first visible stirrings of an erection, tissues beginning to shift and expand. Dean was thinking of the siren, wondering what he'd have done if the man had kissed him, remembering how powerful his feelings were. _If this makes me gay, well... fuck._ Dean looked down at his hardening cock.  _Not that I've never thought about fucking a dude before_ , Dean mused, and just like that his mind whirled back to Castiel, recalling his previous fantasies. Dean's erection bobbed, and he sighed.

Castiel was pleased that his doubts had been erroneous.  Unfortunately, just as Dean began to grasp his penis, there was a flap of wings. His new superior stood before him.

Zachariah tsked.  "Castiel, Castiel, Castiel. I was warned about this, you know. You're developing quite the reputation."

"The injuries that Alastair caused--"

"Are clearly healing just fine, which we've known for weeks now."  Zachariah's lips were pressed into a line. He folded his arms. "We both know that's not why you're here. Not really."

Castiel exhaled slowly, glancing to the side with a sheepish look. "No. I... I'm here for other reasons as well."

"Voyeurism isn't the most holy of habits, but," Zachariah shrugged loosely, "I can't say I didn't expect it." Behind him, the outline of Dean's body was visible through the fogged glass of the motel shower door. While his form was somewhat obscured, his movements were not. His right hand was gliding long and slow at his groin, while his left was crossing his chest, fingertips scraping over a nipple. Zachariah noticed where Castiel's gaze had fallen and turned to look. "I can almost see why. For a human, he is awful pretty." Zachariah turned back to Castiel. "You would know better than most, since you were the one who rebuilt him, weren't you?"

"Yes," Castiel said, making an effort to focus on Zachariah despite the distracting motion of Dean's quickening strokes behind him.

"Is that when you first began to lust after him?" Zachariah asked casually.

Taken aback, Castiel stammered, "I- lust?" Castiel squinted, tilting his head. "I don't... What I feel for Dean Winchester is not... lust."

"Oh, so you don't take pleasure from watching him like this?" Zachariah's tone was still casual, friendly, entirely out of place. "Nor do you take pleasure from the fact that he fantasizes about you, I suppose."

Castiel studied Zachariah's face, brow creasing in suspicion. "Not sexual pleasure, no."

"And how would you know, hmm?" Zachariah tipped his head forward, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

Castiel's mouth opened to respond, then closed again.

"That's what I thought. See, you're skirting a very dangerous line here, and you don't even realize it. That's okay, it's not your fault." Zachariah's expression was sympathetic, his voice kind. "But you need to stop. Before this gets out of hand."

Castiel's gaze dropped to the floor. "Yes. I'll leave at once."

"Oh, no," Zachariah said, smirking.  Castiel looked up at him, surprise evident on his face. "I don't trust you to stop cold turkey," Zachariah continued, coming to stand by Castiel's side. "Uriel tried that, and look where we are. Right where we started." He placed his hands on Castiel's shoulders, turning Castiel towards the shower. Together they took in the sight of Dean jerking in quick, sharp movements, his breath coming in pants.

Zachariah spoke, a note of reproach in his voice. "You know what his reaction would be, if he knew what you've been doing.  It's the reason you haven't revealed yourself. It's time for you to face the music."

"No," Castiel begged.

"Yes," Zachariah said, placing a hand to Castiel's forehead, forcing his angelic shields down, suddenly exposing him to human senses. "Confession is good for the soul."

* * *

Dean had a good rhythm going on, picturing the scruffy angel on his knees, big blue eyes looking hungrily up at him. One of his favorites. It always got him off good, even when his other fantasies left him straining towards orgasm with a sore wrist and a chafed dick. Showers were no good for jerking off, though. Water made for crappy lube, and it washed away the precome that made it easier to finish. Dean opened his eyes, meaning to look for that little bottle of hotel conditioner, but was startled to see the foggy outline of someone standing on the other side of the shower door.

"Jesus, Sammy, what the hell dude!" He put a hand over his dick, tucking it down - fuck, gross, his little brother might have seen him pulling pud - and cracked the shower door open, intending to bitch his little brother out.

"Hello, Dean," said Cas.

"Cas?" He just stood there with slumped shoulders and big blue puppy-dog eyes, which should  _under no circumstances_ be as hot as it was. Dean swallowed and tried again. "Cas, what are you doing here?"

"I..." Cas sighed, looking off to the side plaintively, then turning back to face Dean. "I was... watching you masturbate." 

"What?" Dean blinked, muscles frozen, mind blank from equal parts panic and lust.

"I was watching you masturbate," repeated Castiel. He sighed, glancing at the floor. "I enjoy watching you masturbate, Dean. I take great pleasure from it."  _  
_

Dean managed a strangled sound. This kind of thing didn't happen in real life, did it?  "What?" Dean said again, unable to come up with anything better.

Cas looked back up at him with those  _Jesus fuck_ blue eyes, and continued, "I find your naked body to be a pleasing sight." He paused. "I particularly enjoy that you think of me when you pleasure yourself."

"Wait, hold up," Dean snapped, because this _definitely_ doesn't happen in real life. "How the hell do you know that?"

Cas's features contracted in a familiar almost-confused look. "Angels can hear prayers, Dean. Every child learns that in church."

"But..." Dean struggled to process what Cas said. "There's a big difference between a prayer and... and..." the words wouldn't come.

"A sexual fantasy?"

"Yeah, that."

"Apparently not," Cas said, eyes sinking back down to the floor.

"So let me get this straight," Dean said, head swimming. "Whenever I... fantasize... about you, you can hear that?" Cas nodded sombrely. "And you like it." Another nod. "Enough to take a break from the friggin' Apocalypse, to come down here and watch me jerk off."

Cas's jaw worked, but instead of speaking he simply nodded a third time.

"Wow," Dean said, recalling all the times that he'd spanked it to thoughts of Cas. How his prime jerkoff material was Cas on his knees. It made him feel dirty afterwards, but... Cas _liked_ it. Dean's dick throbbed, begging for attention. "That is seriously fucking hot."

Cas's head snapped up, meeting Dean's gaze. It was his turn now to gape. "What?"

Dean gripped his cock again and gave it a quick stroke, and  _fuck_  he was hard. "You heard me, angel." He reached forward with his off hand, pushing the shower door wide open. Exposing himself made him a little self-conscious, but it also made his dick strain and leak in his hand. The astonished look on Cas's face alone was worth it. "This what you like?"

Castiel nodded, eyes bugging out of his head, taking in a deep breath.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean groaned. "Listening in on my thoughts, you gotta know I'm down." Cas licked his lips, the hungry look in his eyes better than Dean could have possibly imagined. "Fuck, Cas," Dean repeated, squeezing the base of his cock. "Don't just stand there. Come'n get it."

"I..." Cas looked off to the side again, eyes pleading. "I can't."

"But you just said how much you like it," Dean said, waggling his dick. Cas looked back at him, and the groan that escaped his throat made Dean's spine tingle. But he still didn't move an inch, as if frozen in place.

"Alright," Dean said. He let go of himself and stepped towards Cas, out of the shower. Castiel's eyes got impossibly wider, a look akin to panic passing over his face. Dean pressed damp fingers against Cas's shirt, working his left hand up and under both coat and jacket. Cas stood rock-solid, unyielding, fists clenched at his sides. Dean stepped closer, positioning his dick with his right hand to press against the angel's thigh. He was rewarded by a sharp exhalation, Castiel's breath ghosting against his wet cheek. Dean grinned and ground up against Cas's nice slacks. Filthy, yes; gay as fuck, absolutely; but the heat in Cas's eyes and the hitch in his breath were  _delicious_.

"It's all yours if you want it," Dean murmured, lips close enough to brush Cas's stubble as he spoke. "You do want it, don't you?"

" _Dean_ ," Cas growled. Finally,  _fucking finally_ , he moved a hand up to cup Dean's face- and before Dean could do anything else, the world suddenly faded to black.

* * *

Castiel gently lowered Dean's unconscious body to the floor of the bathroom. After laying him down, Castiel righted himself. He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly, seeking inner peace and coming up short.

"Do you see what I mean when I say this is dangerous? How quickly this can all get out of hand?" Zachariah stood just to the side of him, still invisible. Castiel nodded silently, reeling. "We need you on the front line, Castiel. No distractions. So I'm going to erase this from his memory, and you are going to stop this foolishness. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Castiel said, finding his voice.

"Good. You're dismissed."

Castiel fled in a flurry of frantic wingbeats, leaving Zachariah alone with Dean.  He knelt over the unconscious hunter, sighing. "We need you too," he said quietly. "You and your brother, back in the game. Can't have you sitting at home getting rusty on us, now can we?"

Zachariah placed his fingertips to Dean's temple and began to work.


	4. Just So You Understand Why I Can't Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during and after "The Monster at the End of This Book" (S4E18).  
> Inspired mainly by [this clip](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9eBs8RRHRmU&t=1m50s).

Dean hadn't thought of Cas as being very expressive. Sometimes he got intense, yeah, sometimes kinda sad, but that had more to do with posture and tone of voice. No matter what the situation, Dean remembered his face the same, always with those the big, clear eyes that seemed to sear into his soul. But last night, when he gave Dean the tip about archangels, Cas turned his head away with that exaggeratedly innocent face and then his eyes had flicked back to Dean knowingly, almost mischievious, like a naughty schoolkid about to break the rules.

That look was trouble.

Dean could show the angel some trouble. Yeah, he could.

He checked the time. Sam had only been gone for ten minutes, which means he probably had some time before his little brother brought back the takeout. Just in case, Dean flipped the security latch on the door before unzipping his jeans to pull his dick out. He knew how to get himself off quick, setting to it with a practiced hand.

Dean imagined leaning over to the angel and saying  _Let's get outta here_ with a raised eyebrow and a gleam in his eye, and Cas would fix him with that look and then follow him out, and as soon as they were alone Cas would lunge at him, covering Dean's mouth with his own.

Dean imagined asking  _How do you like it?_ and Cas would give him that look, right before Cas shoved him up against the wall and showed Dean exactly how he liked it.

Dean imagined saying  _I wanna fuck you senseless,_ completely out of the blue, and that look would pass over Cas's face, and Dean would know it was okay to ease the trenchcoat off of his shoulders and climb up to straddle Cas's lap.

Dean imagined that all he'd have to do to get that look is raise his eyebrows and lick his lips suggestively, and then Dean would undo those too-nice trousers and get down on his knees.

Dean imagined a lot of things, precome smearing slick down the underside of his cock as he stroked. If Cas was that expressive when he was only hinting at bending a minor rule, Dean could only imagine what his face would like when he  _actually_ decided to go all-out.

Fucking dudes was probably against angel rules, Dean guessed, his dick twitching in his hand. _Someone's got themselves a fallen angel fetish._ Dean dismissed the thought - no time for psychoanalysis when Sammy could be back any minute. He slipped his left hand under his shirt to pinch a nipple, refocusing his thoughts.

If Dean pressed his open mouth to Cas's neck, would his eyes hood and his lips part? Yeah, yeah they would, and Cas's head would roll back on his shoulders and let Dean dig in with lips and teeth and tongue. And if Dean palmed Cas's dick through his slacks, his eyes would squint shut and he'd rock into Dean's hand. Would he bite his lip to stifle a groan? Maybe at first, but if Dean wrapped his fingers around Cas's dick, he wouldn't be able to hold back that gravelly voice, filling the room with moans and pants.

And  _oh, god_ , what would Cas's face do if Dean made him come?

The thought pushed Dean over the edge, a sharp cry escaping his throat as his cock pulsed quick and sharp.

* * *

Castiel flew from the room, both thankful and disappointed that Dean had finished so quickly. He hoped to avoid drawing attention to his indiscretions with Dean Winchester.

Unfortunately for him, the Heavenly Host was paying close attention. They already knew. And they had a plan.


	5. Free Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before and during "Jump the Shark" (S4E19), ending just before "The Rapture" (S4E20).

"It is evident that your attachment to Dean Winchester is growing," said Michael. He was currently taking the form of a vaguely familiar dark-haired man with pale skin and green eyes, Raphael stood just next to him, dark-skinned with a clean-shaven head. The two archangels were accompanied by Zachariah, and all three of them glared at Castiel as he arrived to stand before them.

Castiel nodded slowly, casting his eyes downward. He braced himself for certain and severe punishment.

"Though the specific nature of your activities have given us cause for concern," Michael continued, glancing at Zachariah, "we are beginning to see how this attachment may have its benefits."

Both Castiel and Zachariah looked up, heads snapping towards Michael, twin expressions of surprise on their faces.

Michael smiled. "There was much rejoicing in Heaven when we heard Dean Winchester's prayer for help. The righteous man is finally turning towards Heaven. This must be encouraged."

"But," Zachariah sputtered, "but he's been-"

"We know," Michael said evenly. "We also believe that if Castiel knew more about God's plan for Dean Winchester, it may help curtail his more… inappropriate actions." Raphael nodded in agreement, crossing his arms.

"With all due respect," Zachariah said, raising one hand in objection, "I think that might have unintended consequences."

"If so, we can deal with that when necessary," Raphael said, steel in his voice.

Michael snapped his fingers, shifting his form. Castiel's eyes flew wide.

"This is my true vessel," Michael said. The voice was Dean's, as was the body, but the cadence and posture were Michael's.

A sense of profound _wrongness_ rippled through Castiel, seeing his brother inhabiting the man with whom Castiel was so intimately familiar, body and soul. He needed to say something, anything, to stop this. "You have no need for a vessel," said Castiel.

"Not yet," Michael said.

Castiel found each word more disconcerting than the last, the contradiction of his brother in Dean's body screaming through him, clouding his thoughts. Eventually, it came to him. "You don't believe we can stop Lillith."

Raphael leaned forward slightly. "We're certain of it."

"The end of days has long been foretold," Michael said.

"But we can stop it before that becomes necessary. The entire heavenly host-"

"Cannot change the will of God," Raphael interrupted. "Castiel, you must understand that this is inevitable. This is destiny. Lucifer will rise."

"And I will prevail." Michael smiled with Dean's lips. "This is God's plan." 

* * *

 Castiel watched and waited, except now instead of anticipation he felt only dread. 

His new orders were to ingratiate himself with Dean, to clear the way for Dean's acceptance once it was time for him to become Michael's vessel. The thought made Castiel uneasy. He found himself settling into long-ingrained patterns, observing quietly, not interacting.

He watched the brothers drive, Dean behind the wheel, Sam sleeping in the passenger seat. In the small hours of the night, for no reason Castiel could discern, Dean burst into a grin and turned up the radio. Sam woke with a start, irritated at first, then becoming infected by Dean's laughter. They switched places, Sam taking the wheel while Dean nodded against the window. Less than two hours later Sam was too tired to drive, but instead of waking Dean he parked the car and climbed into the back seat. Sam was thoughtful. Considerate. He wanted the best for the ones he loved. Castiel found it increasingly difficult to condemn Sam Winchester, despite his sins. All men have sinned. Few of them came to their sins through such a deep yearning to do good.

Castiel watched over the brothers as they slept. Just before dawn Dean bolted upright with a sudden shock, realizing all at once that the car wasn't moving. Only after finding Sam safe and nearby did he relax. He checked his hidden weapons before readjusting to stretch across the front seat. Every action was undeniably  _Dean_. The thought of him being anything other than himself was difficult for Castiel to bear.

He watched as Sam woke, stretching and squinting in the morning light. The slam of the car door woke Dean as well, his eyes flashing open. Once he realized that it was still only him and Sam, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes again, striving for an extra few minutes of sleep which never came.

When Dean opened the car door only to fall out, Castiel was close enough to catch him. He let the opportunity pass by.

When Dean complained of hunger, Castiel contemplated fetching food for the brothers. He allowed that opportunity to pass as well.

When they set off towards Missouri with some haste, Castiel might have offered to transport them quickly, saving them time and effort. He did not extend that offer.

He was still watching when the brothers met the ghoul who had eaten Adam Milligan, the facade clear to angelic senses although apparently deceptive to human ones. Telling Dean about the ghoul would almost certainly ingratiate him to Heaven's cause. This was the perfect opportunity, capitalizing on Dean's mistrust for his recently discovered "brother" and allowing Dean the violent catharsis that he desired.

Instead Castiel fled, putting a hundred miles behind him in a beat of his wings.

He landed upon a Rocky Mountain peak, somewhere in southwest Colorado. The majesty of God's creation stretched out before him in all directions. It was a good place for contemplation.

Castiel sat as day and night and day again passed by, struggling to reconcile his orders with the emotion curling through his chest - dangerous, irrational,  _human_ emotion. He considered breaking his bonds with Heaven and he ached with the prospect of pain and loss. He considered following his orders to manipulate Dean and his resolve crumbled into dust.

As the sun set on the second day, Castiel stood. He took a deep breath. "Anna!" he cried. " _Anna, please_!" He reached out to her across the wavelengths, putting all the force of his anguish into the call.

"I still can't tell you what to do," Anna gently reprimanded, her voice coming from behind him.

"I know." Castiel turned to face her, knowing before he saw it that the expression on her face would be kind. "I wanted to apologize. I am more like you than I'd... than I thought I was."

Anna closed the distance between them, reaching out with a hand to cup Castiel's cheek. The look on her face made him recall how she'd looked at Dean that last time, and Castiel's heart stirred at her touch. 

"I forgive you, Castiel."

Castiel's eyes squeezed shut as he brought his own hand up to cover Anna's. His fingers curled around hers, drawing the touch out, deepening it by leaning his jaw into her palm. It was a long moment before Anna drew their hands away from Castiel's face. Their fingers entwined, hanging between them as they stood.

"Is it worth the fall?" Castiel asked. His eyes opened but his gaze stayed low, fixing on their clasped hands.

"Yes... and no." Anna let her thumb trace softly against Castiel's. "What happened?"

"It's about Dean. I was given new orders, to..." Castiel looked away, conflict blossoming across his face. "... build his trust in me. So that he will not refuse... when Heaven calls on him."

"To do what?"

"Anna," Castiel said, gripping her hand tighter, "I  _can't_."

"That bad, huh?" A slight smile played on her lips, but when Castiel nodded in agreement his face was solemn. "Does he know?" Anna asked.

"No."

"So tell him." Castiel looked up to see the earnest sincerity on Anna's face. "I understand that you can't tell me. But I'm not the one who needs to decide. He is."

"I was ordered not to reveal the plan."

"You were also ordered to gain his trust, weren't you?" In response, Castiel nodded. "Honesty builds trust. Let him have the free will to choose his own path, as God intended."

Castiel nodded again. It felt good to have a course of action, even if it was a risky one. "Thank you, Anna."

Anna only smiled and shook her head. "I shouldn't have done that," she said.

"What?"

"Told you what to do."

Anna stepped close to him, letting go of his hand to wrap her arms around his waist. The gesture was similar to the typical greeting ritual of the third-class cherubs, but much less uncomfortable. Castiel let his arms settle around her shoulders.

The sun had set now, the sky dimming as they held each other. "Is there anything else you wanted?" Anna murmured into Castiel's coat, hands grazing against his back.

Castiel tucked he top of Anna's head under his chin. "It's not of great import, but there is something I'm curious about."

"Mmm?"

"Sexual intimacy," Castiel said. Anna tensed, pressing herself tighter against his vessel. "With Dean Winchester. What was that like?"

Anna relaxed, stilling her hands. She took a step back and looked up into Castiel's eyes. "You love him, don't you?"

"Of course," Castiel said, but his eyes shifted away from Anna's face.

"That's not what I mean," Anna said, and Castiel understood that she was referring to something beyond the love God had commanded of the angels. "I mean... you  _love_ him."

Castiel sighed. "I don't know."

"Then the answer is, _yes_." Anna was smiling, but her eyes were full of sorrow. "Love is definitely worth the fall."

Then she was gone, leaving Castiel alone again on the mountaintop with his thoughts.


	6. A Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during "Lucifer Rising" (S4E22).

Everything was conflict and contradiction, and it was tearing Castiel apart.

Forbidden from relaying any meaningful information about the brothers' true roles as vessels, but commanded to answer Dean's prayers.

Allowing Dean to believe he could take his brother's place, but forced to ensure that it would never come to pass.

Even the mere sight of Dean Winchester tormented him, conjuring an utterly absurd feeling of  _untrustworthiness_ that went against Castiel's soul-deep knowledge of the righteous man but still could not be shaken. It felt like there a reason for it, something important that he couldn't quite remember.

Angels weren't meant for contradictions, and they certainly weren't meant to _feel_  like this. A cloud of emotions plagued Castiel, and as hard as he struggled to put a name to the feelings, he could only come up with:  _Anna. Dean. Sam._

Sam Winchester, following the best intentions down the road to Armageddon.

Dean Winchester, entrusted with the fate of the world but so  _untrustworthy_ that he must be kept caged until then.

Anna, whose punishment was surely ongoing, who despite disgrace and despite herself was the only one who'd given Castiel a clear direction to follow.

A clear direction is what angels were built for - what they were created for. "Tell him," Anna had said. Castiel wished he could tell Dean everything. Withholding information went against everything in his nature. Castiel regretted the necessity - he regretted many things that he'd been ordered to do.

It struck him then, that while there were many things he was forbidden from telling Dean, his regret was not one of those things. Castiel could have that honesty, at least. He could have that much.

* * *

_Why are you here, Cas?_

_We've been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted to say, I'm sorry it ended like this._

_Sorry? It's Armageddon, Cas. You need a bigger word than "sorry."_

_Try to understand, this is long foretold. This is your-_

_Destiny? Don't give me that_ holy _crap. Destiny, God's plan, it's all a bunch of lies, you poor stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families. That's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn?_

_What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam._

_You can take your peace and shove it up your lily-white ass. 'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise. This is simple, Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it. You know it! You were gonna help me once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to Bible camp. Help me now. Please._

_What would you have me do?_

_Get me to Sam. We can stop this before it's too late._

_I do that, we will all be hunted. We'll all be killed._

_If there is anything worth dying for... this is it._

_..._

_You spineless, soulless son of a bitch. What do you care about dying? You're already dead. We're done._

_Dean..._

_We're done!_

* * *

Castiel flew away and didn't stop flying, the Earth spinning fast beneath him.

Dean was sure. He was confident. There was confusion in Dean, but not about this. Not about Sam.

Could he be right?

He couldn't be right.

 _There is a right and there is a wrong here_ \- but which is which? How could Dean know?

Could the archangels be wrong? Uriel had been wrong - but Uriel had been corrupt. Though, Castiel realized, Uriel's plan to let the Apocalypse continue was exactly the same plan that the other angels had. The same plan that must be kept quiet, to prevent a large-scale rebellion.

Why would the angels rebel, though?

Heaven help them all, the archangels could be wrong.

Dean could be right.

Could he be right?

And even if he wasn't, they were _done_  if Castiel didn't help Dean. But- _what_ was done? What had they had, that now could be done? What  _might_ they have, that otherwise would never be?

_If there is anything worth dying for... this is it._

_Love is definitely worth the fall._

Dean was right.

Dean  _must_ be right.

Castiel's heart hardened, doubt fading away. This was the original order that Michael had given him - to obey Dean, to protect him. They could prevent Sam from becoming a monster. They could prevent the Apocalypse itself.

He and Dean might not be  _done_.

A clear course of action at last. No contradiction. No conflict.

Castiel raced back to Dean, knowing exactly what he needed to do.


	7. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between "Sympathy for the Devil" (S5E1) and "Good God, Y'all" (S5E2).

_It's been like, three days now..._

* * *

The first night Dean dreamed he was in Bobby's house, looking for Sam, but when he went into the basement the familiar walls had stretched into a long, dark corridor. "Sam?" he called, but there was no response. When Dean got to the end, there were two identical doorways, each spilling out into halls which were even darker. " _Sammy_!" He shouted, first down one, then down the other.

A tall shadow shimmered down the left hall -  _Sam_ \- and Dean took off in a sprint. "I'm comin', Sammy!" he yelled. Dean ran until his legs burned and his breath hitched, but the hallway stretched on and on. Finally there was a faint light, illuminating a distant outline of a man at the end of the corridor, and Dean redoubled his efforts. "Hold on, Sammy! I'm comin'!"

As he approached the figure he realized that it wasn't Sam - it was Bobby. Bobby, with the demon knife buried in his gut, blood seeping through his shirt. He looked up at Dean with black eyes. "I never would have guessed that your daddy was right," he said.

"Bobby," Dean pled, but the only response he got were Bobby's hands wrapping around the jutting knife handle and _twisting_. "No, Bobby, please," Dean begged, tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's too late," Bobby said in a sing-song voice.

"No," Dean wept, falling to his knees.

The light above them flickered out, and Dean was bathed in darkness. He looked around frantically, seeing nothing but featureless void. "Bobby? Sam?" Dean's voice echoed against faraway walls, the space around him stretching, cavernous. Panic began to rise in his throat.

"Dean," came a deep, familiar voice.

"Cas!" shouted Dean, rising to his feet. "Cas, where are you?"

"I'm here, Dean," said Castiel, but Dean couldn't see him. "Where are you?"

The darkness was closing in, tendrils of demon smoke enveloping him, at first caressing his limbs and then winding into chains, pulling his body tight.  _Oh god, I'm in Hell_ , Dean thought, and as the flames began to lick at his flesh-

Dean woke up with a start and a shout, flinching against the floor.

Sam rolled over on the couch a few feet away. "You okay?" Sam's voice was thick with sleep.

"Yeah, sorry." Dean inhaled deeply, exhaling in a controlled sigh. "M'fine."

* * *

The second night, Dean dreamed he was in the angels' Green Room. He knew that Sam was about to kill Lilith, knew he needed to stop it, but there were no doors or windows.

"Cas!" he shouted. " _Castiel, get me out of here,_ " he screamed.

The angel appeared to him then, concern drawn across his face. "Dean."

"Cas, you need to help me stop Sam."

"Dean, this is a dream," Castiel said gently.

"No, no we need to stop him." Dean rushed towards him, gripping his forearms. "We can stop him, Cas. You and me."

Castiel's face grew sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Dean. We tried. Remember?"

Dean didn't want to remember, but he did. The scene around them shifted to the barred doors of St. Mary's, with Sam on the other side. Dean flew to the doors, shouting his brother's name and pounding uselessly to be let in. He turned back to Cas, "Help me open the doors, Cas. We can save him, I know we can."

"I... I'm sorry."

"That's my brother in there, and all you can say is  _sorry_?" Dean swung at Castiel, whose face might have been made of solid steel for all that it gave under Dean's fist.

"Dean, where are you?" Castiel asked. The question didn't make any sense.

"I'm right here, you bastard." Dean threw another punch, but Castiel just looked at him with those stupid blue eyes. Dean hit him again and again, beating his fists against the stoic angel, wanting a reaction - _any_ reaction. "Why won't you help me?" The angel stood unyielding, letting Dean pummel him uselessly until his anger gave way to frustrated sobs. His fingers gripped tight fistfuls of Castiel's lapels. "Why didn't he listen to me?" 

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said, and the sympathy in his face and voice opened the floodgates. Dean pressed his face into Cas's shoulder, half for comfort, half to hide the tears. He wasn't expecting Cas's hand to come up to cup the back of his head, or Cas's arm to wrap around him in a comforting embrace. The comfort only made Dean sob harder.

Dean woke up to Sam shaking him. "Hey," Sam said in hushed tones, "hey, it's okay."

"What?" Dean said, before he realized that his face was wet. Damn it. _  
_

"You were..."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm fine." Dean rolled over, ignoring the stiffness in his back.

"If you say so," Sam said, doubt in his voice.

* * *

The third night, Dean dreamed a familiar dream, of waking up on Bobby's floor, looking up, seeing Castiel leaning back against Bobby's stove. Dean felt  _deja vu_ as he checked to make sure Sam was safely asleep before rising quietly and approaching the angel.

"Your dreams are troubled," Cas said.

"Yeah, well, I've had a 'troubling' few days, okay?" Dean huffed.

Castiel nodded sombrely, his eyes dropping to the floor before coming back up to meet Dean's. "I'm sorry I haven't been more help."

"Yeah, well..." Dean smiled wanly, "you're not here to perch on my shoulder, right?"

Castiel didn't return the smile, instead pursing his lips in an expression that looked almost regretful. "I couldn't... and to be honest, I regret that." Dean turned, eyebrows rising in a questioning look. "There are many things I regret about the past year," Castiel continued. "One of those regrets is that I couldn't reciprocate your interest in me."

"You couldn't... what? What does that even mean, Cas?"

Cas leaned in towards Dean, his voice hushed and confidential. "I know how you think of me, when you're alone."

Dean searched Castiel's face for a long moment, trying to puzzle out what that meant.  _When I'm alone... how I think of him..._ when the realization hit, Dean flushed and looked away. "Cas, that's not..." Dean started, intending to deflect, but then a second realization struck him. He looked back up at the angel. "Reciprocate?"

Castiel nodded, his eyes never breaking contact with Dean's. "I have no experience with matters of the flesh," he intoned solemnly, "but your thoughts fascinate me." Dean's thoughts felt thick, sticking on the words _reciprocate - flesh - fascinate_ , and he found himself staring at Castiel's mouth as he spoke. He'd had a lot of _fascinating_ thoughts about those lips, oh yes, but right now the only thought in his head was,  _Should I?_ And as if Cas was reading his mind, the next words out of his mouth were, "I would like it very much if-"

Dean surged forward to crush his mouth against Cas's, cutting him off mid-sentence. At first Castiel took Dean's kisses as he took punches, stock-still and unyielding as stone. When Cas finally parted his lips for Dean's tongue, groaning low and deep in the back of his throat, Dean lapped into his mouth hungrily. Suddenly Castiel's hands were moving all over Dean's body, palming his chest, tracing his jaw, carding through his hair, running down his neck and shoulders and back, each touch deliberate and firm. It was more exploratory than erotic, and it made Dean want _more_.

Dean pushed, and this time the angel yielded to his touch. He backed Castiel into the counter, then craned his neck down to kiss and lick and suck a trail from Cas's mouth to his throat. His hands pressed steady into Castiel's hips. Castiel's hands were roaming everywhere except for where it counted, but Dean felt himself hardening anyway. Dean pulled at Castiel's collar, exposing more flesh. He sucked hard at the soft skin there, a hot thrill running through him when Castiel growled softly in response.

Dean's mouth dragged back up Cas's jaw, canting his hips forward so that Cas could feel how hard he was. Castiel finally reacted to that, gripping Dean's hips and pulling their bodies tightly together. "Want you so bad," Dean panted, rutting against Cas, the friction somehow still not enough.

"Where are you?" Castiel rumbled, the words vibrating against Dean's lips.

"Bobby's. We're at Bobby's." Dean stilled, realizing. "Sam's in the next room. We can't."

Castiel fixed him with a burning look. "This is a dream. But I can come to you, if you want."

"A dream," Dean repeated, finding it difficult to think with his dick so hard, with Castiel so close. "So this isn't real."

But if it wasn't real...

Dean's arousal was overtaken by a surge of panic. He stepped back suddenly, wrenching out of Castiel's grip, racing over to the sofa. When he yanked back the blanket, his fears were confirmed: cold, empty cushions. "Sam?" He whirled. The room was empty. " _Sammy!_ "

"Sam is fine," Castiel said from the kitchen doorway.

"Yeah, well then  _where is he?_ " Dean shouted back at him, heart racing. " _Sammy!_ " Dean called out, racing towards the basement steps which stretched into darkness.

Dean needed to find his brother, needed to keep him safe. He turned to Castiel, who stood there looking completely impassive, even though Sammy was  _gone_. "Cas, help me. I need to find Sam." _  
_

"Dean," Castiel began.

"Don't  _Dean_ me, Cas. He's my brother, damn it!" Dean looked back towards the staircase that led into an abyss of darkness, as if it would swallow him whole if he stepped down.

Castiel sighed and snapped his fingers.

Dean bolted upright, suddenly awake. His head turned with a snap, his hand reaching out - and Sam was definitely still on the couch. Dean exhaled in a long sigh, grateful that he hadn't woken him up. He sat there on the floor next to the sofa until he felt calmer, watching Sam's chest expand as he breathed.

Sammy was fine. It was just a dream.

What a freakin' dream, though. Dean blinked, remembering. Apparently he had some deep-seated fantasies that he needed to work out. He actually felt kind of foolish, replaying it in his head. As if Cas would be  _flattered_ by Dean jerking off to him. As if Dean would really want to make out with Cas, who was - Dean reminded himself - still a dude.

Dean's head spun and his bladder ached. One of those two things had an easy fix, at least. He hauled himself up and padded into the bathroom. A long sigh escaped him as he began emptying his bladder. He wasn't sure which was worse, the nightmares or the crazy sex dreams about-

"Dean."

"Shit-" Dean flinched at the low sound and the puff of breath on the back of his neck. "Cas, what the hell?" Dean shoved his dick back in his pants, turning to face the angel who stood _way_ too close for comfort. A strange flush passed over him, Cas showing up like this just after he was dreaming about... never mind.

"Get outta my bubble, man," Dean snapped. The embarassment Dean felt at the angel's presence was worse than the night before, when Sam had found him crying in his sleep. Tears were one thing, but gay fantasies? Castiel's brows furrowed but he made no attempt to step away, which was really _not helping_ with the gay fantasy thing, especially since his lips looked so invitingly flushed...

Dean closed his eyes, pushing those thoughts away. He found himself suddenly furious - can't the angel take a damn hint? Was he really that clueless? Dean opened his eyes again, fixing Cas with the most scathing look he could manage. "Since angels clearly have no concept of personal space, I'm going to explain it to you real simple: back... the hell... up." Dean put his hand out, pressing at Castiel's chest, and the angel let himself be pushed back an arm's length. Dean swung his outstretched arm left to right. "This is my bubble, okay? Personal. Space. Stay the hell out of it."

Cas's expression twisted into something close enough to regret for Dean to be satisfied. Dean looked back at the toilet and made a disgusted noise at the splatters of yellow liquid there. Great. Dean already had the Apocalypse, Bobby's injuries, and these crazy dreams, and now he had to wipe up piss. "Whatever this is, it better be freakin' important, Cas."

When Dean looked back up, the bathroom was empty. His fingers curled into a frustrated fist. He had to force himself to take a few deep breaths -  _if I punched a hole in the wall, it'd wake up Sam, Bobby deserves better than that, calm down_ \- before wadding up some toilet paper to clean up his mess. _  
_

* * *

Castiel chastised himself as he flew away. He was ignorant of so many human things. Dean had said in his dream that he'd wanted Cas, but instead Dean had been angry with him for arriving. Castiel must have done something wrong, something that made Dean push him away. Perhaps he hadn't sought clear enough consent? Perhaps it was the presence of Sam? Castiel didn't know, but he knew that he had been rejected.

 _"We're done,"_ Dean had said, the recollection echoing in Castiel's mind. Perhaps that was it; perhaps that declaration spelled the end of their bond. A part of Castiel rejected that, recalling how eager Dean had seemed in his dream, but another part of him preferred the simplicity of it.

 _"We're done,"_ and that would be the end of it.  _Except perhaps in dreams,_ Castiel allowed himself to hope... and then chided himself for hoping. Hope was what had brought him to this sorry state to begin with.

The devil had risen, the Apocalypse was nigh, and Dean had quite literally pushed him away. Everything Castiel had wagered, he'd lost.

But he was alive, and the Winchesters were alive, and perhaps Castiel shouldn't expect more than that. Even that much was miraculous, a clear act of God in these troubled times. God was still with them, wherever He was.

Castiel came to a halt in the wilderness. He felt a strange silence, the absence of connection to his brothers and sisters. Still, he raised his voice in prayer, praising God and asking for guidance. Castiel was weak, foolish, ignorant, yes; but God was wise. With His help, Castiel would find a way forward, he was sure of it.

* * *

_With God's help, we can win._

_It's a pipe dream, Cas._

_I killed two angels this week. My brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world, and I lost everything, for nothing. So keep. Your opinions. To yourself._


	8. Last Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during "Free to Be You and Me" (S5E3).
> 
> TW: Implied previous prostitution on Dean's part.

Dean was almost surprised at how comfortably he and Cas fell in together, considering... well. Considering. And despite the shitty way he'd been acting, Cas was right when he'd said that they'd been through a lot together. So if the guy was gonna die tomorrow, Dean owed him a good send-off.

Women were clearly out of the question. Or at least their price range didn't cover the kind of woman who'd put up with Cas's weirdness. So Dean had moved on to Plan B: Booze. He only got a fifth, thanks to Cas's stick-in-the-mud objections that they'd have to be sober by dawn, but Dean had bought the most expensive whiskey he could find. It was some black-label hundred-proof fancy pants brand that Dean would never have bought for himself.

While they'd started out shot-for-shot, it became pretty clear that even cut-off angels had supernatural levels of alcohol tolerance. When Dean told him to drink the last of it himself, Cas shrugged like it wasn't anything and gulped it down straight from the bottle. Straight down like he was drinking water. Didn't even flinch afterwards. Which should  _not_ be as hot as it was.

Okay, maybe the alcohol was affecting Dean. Maybe a little bit.

Cas, on the other hand, still looked stone-cold sober. He caught Dean looking at him and shrugged.

"Really?" Dean asked. "Nothing?"

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be feeling," Castiel replied flatly.

"It's prob'ly better anyway, since we got..." Dean leaned back, checking his watch, "five hours till sunrise."

"Will you be able to sober up in that time?" Castiel asked, eyeing Dean in a way that he'd take as a challenge if he didn't know Cas better than that.

"Course I will," Dean said, puffing up. "I grew up on this stuff, man." Castiel looked satisfied with that - well, okay, he just kind of looked off to the side - but he stopped asking questions at least.

Dean slid back in his motel chair and contemplated the angel sitting across from him. Aside from his lack of social graces, Cas was pretty freakin' amazing. Powerful. Badass. Handsome, even. If Dean was noticing these things, other people had to. And somehow he was still a virgin?

Castiel had noticed Dean's staring, and squinted at him. "What?" he asked.

Dean smiled and shook his head. "How old're you?"

Castiel shrugged.

"What's that mean?" Dean scoffed. "C'mon man, gimme somethin. A thousand years?"

"Older than that."

"Ten thousand?"

"Older."

"A million?"

"Dean," Castiel said, turning to look at him, "my sense of time is... different from yours. I am much older than humanity, but not as old as God. That's the best answer I can give you."

Dean smirked. "And in all that time, you never 'had the occasion' to sleep with somebody?"

Castiel blinked. "Angels have no need of sleep."

"No, I mean," Dean rolled his eyes, "sex. Thousands of years, and you've never had sex."

"Much of that time was spent without a human vessel, which makes sex irrelevant."

"But you're in a vessel now," Dean said.

Castiel cleared his throat and managed a curt, "Yes."

"So... not 'irrelevant'?"

"Not entirely." A strange expression was making its way across Castiel's face.

"Not entirely," Dean echoed. "Which means...?"

"Which means I have considered the possibility since taking this vessel, yes," Castiel confirmed.

Dean licked his lips. Just as he'd thought - Castiel might be an angel, but he was a _dude_  angel. And if Dean knew anything about dudes, he knew that they liked to fuck. He knew that fact better than he knew his Bible, that's for damn sure.

"I don't understand," said the angel. "Why are you so fixated on sex?"

"Cuz sex is good," Dean said, just the plain honest truth. This is the point where he should really play it off as a human thing, or even maybe just a drunk thing, but when he looked up into Castiel's blue eyes he just drank them in. He held onto that eye contact for a long time, searching in that gaze for something, not sure what he was looking for.

A reckless thought popped into his head. The kind of thought that he'd reject immediately when sober. But tonight Dean was drunk, and the electric intensity in those ridiculous baby blues was enough for him to just come out and say it.

"It's your last night on earth, Cas." Dean leaned forward, meeting those blue eyes with his own smouldering green - yeah, he knew how to put the smoulder on when he wanted to. And right now, he wanted to. Dean licked his lips, tipping his head down so he was looking up at Cas through his lashes. "I toldja, I don't wanna let you die a virgin." Castiel's brows twitched, his mouth working speechlessly. "If you want it, I can give it to you."

When Castiel glanced coquettishly downward, Dean acted entirely on impulse and whiskey. He came around the table until he was right in front of the angel, who was studiously avoiding his gaze. And then Dean dropped to his knees. "D'you want me to?" Dean asked, his hands roaming from Cas's thighs up towards the button on his pants.

Castiel gripped the sides of his chair tightly. "Dean," he said, soft and low.

Dean drew down Castiel's zip, bracing himself. In his fantasies, Cas was always on the other side of this. _It's not like I've never sucked a dick before,_ Dean thought. _And those guys weren't half as hot as Cas._ That was for money; this was a last night on earth favor. It'd always taken something out of him before, but this time Dean suspected it'd be easy. More than easy, if Cas actually got into it. He fumbled at Cas's still-soft dick through plain white underpants, trying to pull it out so he could get his mouth around it.

Then Cas's hands were on his face, drawing his gaze up. Dean found himself looking up into a face full of divine concern - beautiful but profoundly unsexy. "Dean," Cas repeated, gently this time. "You deserve better than to be used like those men used you." Castiel let his hands drop, but Dean sat still at his feet, the words striking him like lightning through the fog of whiskey. "Those acts should be borne of love," Castiel said solemnly. "I wouldn't want to share anything less with you."

There was a moment of silence as Dean wrapped his head around Cas's words.

"Wow," Dean said, finally sitting back on his heels. "I... wow." He shook his head, feeling some long-smothered feeling stir in a dark place inside of him.

"Dean..."

"Now I understand why that chick slapped you."

Castiel had him fixed with those too-blue eyes, but Dean couldn't meet his gaze. Instead Dean heaved himself to his feet. "I think I need to sleep," he said, then threw himself towards a bed.

"Dean... I..."

"Yeah, sorry Cas," Dean cut him off, "but that's some seriously heavy shit you just laid down." Dean's head spun with drunkenness and shame, and he tried to still it by burying himself in the scratchy motel comforter. "You button yourself up, okay? I'm going to try and forget everything that just happened, if that's alright by you."

There was a long stretch of silence, just long enough for Dean to start nodding off. "Of course," Castiel eventually said, quiet enough not to break Dean's slumber. Dean didn't stir when Castiel pressed two fingers to the side of his head. Afterwards Dean slept deeply.

When he woke just before sunrise Dean found himself better-rested than he could remember being in months.


	9. Endverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during "The End" (S5E4)
> 
> 2014!Dean is not very nice to 2014!Cas, including implied sexual assault.

_Where are you now?_

_Kansas City. Century Hotel, room 113._

_I'll be there immediately._

_I just drove like sixteen hours straight, okay? I'm human. And there's stuff I got to do._

_What stuff?_

_In this case, sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while, okay? So, you can pop in tomorrow morning._

_Yes. I'll just... wait here, then._

* * *

Waiting came as second nature to Castiel, although it was different now that he was cut off from Heaven's power. Previously he'd been able to remain connected to his brothers and sisters with what Dean called "angel radio". Without it he felt isolated.

Upon further reflection, Castiel could consider the isolation a blessing. The connection appeared to be severed in both directions. At least Castiel assumed so, after having gone this long without being discovered by Zachariah and others. Truly, Castiel thought, this must have been the work of God.

He bided his time by praying, adapted from a psalm:  _Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice. Let Your ears be attentive to my voice in supplication. I trust in the Lord; my soul trusts in His word. My soul waits for the Lord more than sentinels wait for the dawn._  In the manner of the rosary he prayed this ten times, contemplating the goodness and mercy of the Lord. 

The Lord must indeed be merciful for Castiel's prayers to go unnoticed by those who would harm him. Perhaps Castiel's own inability to hear prayers was another mercy, to prevent even more confusing emotions from arising within him. If so it was a mercy that Castiel would gladly do without. Almost as much as he missed his connection with the Heavenly Host, he missed being able to hear Dean.

Especially given all of Dean's recent mixed signals. Castiel missed the time when he could watch silently, to observe Dean without his shields up. Back then he could assure himself that Dean felt something for him. But now? Human beings were so fickle. Castiel couldn't be sure.

Castiel couldn't expect anything else from humanity, a species defined by contradiction: created to possess the potential for both great goodness and terrible evil. God's beloved chosen with a core of original sin. The righteous man who would get on his knees for a disgraced angel then just as quickly disavow his actions. As a being created for a singular purpose, created to love wholly and with no reservation, Castiel was fascinated by the contradiction within Dean even though the ambivalence ate at him.

The desire to observe Dean Winchester, the way he used to before his rebellion, struck Castiel like a hunger pang.  _Kansas City,_  he thought. With the merest exertion he could be by Dean's side.

Dean needed his sleep and didn't want to be interrupted, true. Castiel would be disobeying Dean by arriving without allowing him at least four hours, and that thought stilled him for a few seconds.

Dean had also said _iniquity is one of the perks_  of rebellion, and he'd said it with approval. As Castiel took wing, he thought to himself that he didn't need to wake Dean up, or even enter his room. He just wanted to be close enough to hear, just close enough to sense Dean's presence.

* * *

"Damn it, Cas, I need to sleep!"

Castiel startled, turning to face the closed door before he realized that Dean wasn't talking to him. It was clear from the ultra high frequency wavelength pattern emanating from the room that Dean was speaking on his cell phone.

"Sam? It's quarter past four." There was a pause, then a heavy sigh and the sound of shuffling bedclothes. "Alright, Sammy. What is it?"

Sam had somehow learned that he was Lucifer's intended vessel. Castiel was sorry to hear that revelation. It meant that Lucifer had found Sam. From the sound of the conversation, at least it sounded like Sam was himself, and as yet unharmed. Castiel took a moment to thank God for that.

But then Dean's voice became a little louder, thickening with emotion: "We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us, love, family, whatever it is, they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that. We're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing, if we just go our own ways." There was another pause. Sam saying something on the other end of the line. Whatever he said, it wasn't enough. "Bye, Sam."

The phone closed with a soft click. Liquid sloshing, swallowing, and the clank of glass against table were followed by the creak of cheap bedsprings and the rustle of clothes against sheets. Dean exhaled in a long sigh. After a few minutes, his breathing began to slow, taking on the rhythms of sleep.

Castiel was contemplating moving to watch over the sleeping man when he felt it. It began as a quiet, familiar feeling, growing into a specific energy pattern approaching at great speed, catching Castiel's breath in his throat.

 _The Heavenly Host_ , Castiel thought. His wings flicked wide to fly into the hotel room, to scoop Dean up and carry him away from the threat, but before he could move his wingtips fluttered with the whoosh of angels moving at speed. The energy signature inside the room changed, and Castiel knew he was too late. He quickly diverted course and swooped away, trying to be as unobtrusive in his flight as possible.

* * *

Five years and thirty-two hours down a certain future path, Dean found himself staring down a very different Cas. A sweaty, scruffy Cas who smelled like patchouli and pot.

"What, are you stoned?" Dean asked, not expecting the honest answer, given with a rueful chuckle:

"Generally, yeah."

Dean could do nothing else but stare at the hot mess in front of him that used to be an angel. "What happened to you?"

"Life," Castiel said.

"You wanna be a little more specific?"

Cas took a step towards Dean, his eyes sweeping Dean's body in a way that made Dean's mouth dry up. "How specific would you like me to be?"

Those blue eyes settled back on Dean's face, and a pink tongue tip ran over those chapped lips, so distracting that when Dean opened his mouth, his thoughts spilled right out: "Are you hitting on me?"

"Absolutely." Cas stepped close, reaching to cup Dean's cheek as if he was about to lean in for a kiss.

It was too much. Way too much. Dean spun away, crashing through the beaded curtain to exit the cabin.

* * *

Castiel spent twenty minutes approaching the hotel room, painstakingly keeping his angelic power to an absolute minimum to avoid detection. Returning was unwise, and returning on foot was frustratingly slow, but Dean was in danger. Dean needed him.

And considering the emotion that welled up each time Castiel considered the possibility of losing Dean... Castiel might need Dean too.

But as he finally got close enough to begin formulating a plan of attack, he realized that the hotel room was empty. Dean, Zachariah, the entire Heavenly Host - gone. This struck Castiel like a slap in the face. He would certainly have noticed if the angels had taken flight. Dean was untraceable, but Zachariah was not. And there was no trail to follow.

Where could they have gone?

* * *

Crossing the compound in long strides, Dean replayed the conversation with his future self in his head, starting when his future self declared, "We need to talk to Cas about the game plan."

Which freshened Dean's memory. _Cas. Cas almost kissed me, and those women..._  "I think he might be a little busy at the moment."

His future self's eyebrows shot up and Dean tried to explain, but for some reason his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He found himself stumbling over his words, hardly getting half a sentence out before his future self snapped, "Is it one of his fucking orgies?" When Dean nodded, his future self rolled his eyes and huffed out a sharp breath. "Goddammit. That fucking whore."

"Hey," Dean said hotly, "that's Cas you're talking about."

His future self didn't react to his words, instead turning to pour himself another whiskey and down it immediately. "Drink that," he instructed Dean, nodding at his whiskey. "Wait, no." Dean's future self grabbed the glass right out of his hands and gulped that too.

"Dude," Dean said, processing. His future self was pissed off. Why would he be pissed off? It took a long second before the lightbulb came on. "Are we...? Is Cas...?"

Dean couldn't get the question out, but he could tell that his future self understood what he meant by how he braced himself, shoulders tensing, looking off to the side almost guiltily.  "Yeah."

"Yeah? So we're..."

"Fucking, yeah. I...  _we..._  fuck Cas. Alright?" Future Dean took a slug straight from the bottle, grimacing. "Jesus, don't look so damn surprised. We've been gay for that angel practically since the moment we set eyes on him." Dean would have been defensive about that if his future self hadn't followed that with, "And anyway, a hole's a hole."

"Dude." The image made Dean cringe even as the tone set him on edge for some reason he couldn't really place, even after the fact.

His future self wasn't having it. "Don't _dude_ me when he's busy sticking his dick in anything with a pulse. D'you think he'd say anything different?"

Dean wanted to argue with this, wracking his brain for a memory that eluded him, searching for a way to stick up for Cas... but the fact that he was arguing with his own self gave him pause. Instead he said, "Now I get why he hit on me."

"Yeah. Like I said, he's a fucking whore."

"Hey," Dean snapped, finding himself suddenly and intensely annoyed, thinking of the two different women that his future self had apparently been fucking. "You aren't exactly acting like a good boyfriend."  _Boyfriend._ He'd actually said  _boyfriend_. To himself.

"Look at you," his future self mocked, "what are you, in love with him?" While Dean had gaped at this, his future self snorted. "Two-thousand nine. Right. You know what? If you think so highly of him, you can go and get him. You deal with his oversexed bullshit. Hell, fuck him yourself for all I care. Just bring him back here when you're done." Bottle in hand, his future self had turned away. "I'll be waiting." 

And now Dean was on the threshold of the beaded doorway, listening to the sighs and moans and wet sucking sounds of whatever was happening inside. He knew he should probably interrupt, tell Cas to put his clothes on and get to other Dean's cabin. Instead he hesitated, listening. _Cas is in there_ , he thought. Part of him found it hard to believe, and the other part was just hard.

One of the women was whimpering with each panted breath, and Dean wondered which one it was. He edged close to the curtain but couldn't make out anything inside except the flicker of candlelight. _She's making those noises because she's fucking Cas_ , he thought. His dick strained in his jeans, and Dean hated himself a little bit for it. _  
_

When Cas groaned in a deep rumble, muffled yet completely unmistakable, Dean's curiosity overcame him. He needed to know what the angel was doing, or having done to him, to draw that sound from his throat.

Dean was careful to pass through the beaded curtain as quietly as possible. It took a second for his eyes to adjust, to make out the individual people in the tangle of bodies. Cas was right in the middle of the action. Two entangled brunettes were groping and grinding against each other, bodies sprawled and writhing slow across Cas's lap. A lighter-haired woman  with heaving breasts pressed close to Cas's side. Her hands were hidden behind the pair in front, but from her sinuous movements Dean guessed she was rubbing herself. Cas was twisted at the waist to half-curl around the fourth woman at his other side, a bleach-blonde who was the one making those whimpering sounds. One of Cas's arms was looped behind her back to hold her against him, his other hand hidden between her thighs, his open mouth pressed against the side of her breast.

"So beautiful," Cas mouthed against her skin, his hand working where Dean couldn't see. "You close?" he asked. When she panted her "yes," he kissed her nipple with an open mouth and turned to lie back. As he did, his eyes grazed where Dean stood.

Cas froze, eyes locked on Dean's. A second later, in a tone that sounded more like the Cas of 2009 than 2014, he said: "Dean."

The hot serpentine rolling of bodies turned chilly, hands pulling away from each other to cover themselves. The women's faces turned towards him even as their shoulders turned away and their knees drew up until four pairs of cold, accusing eyes stared at him - and then there was Cas, loose-limbed and wide-eyed.

Dean reminded himself that he'd come here for a reason. "Sorry to interrupt the fun," he said, keeping his voice as stony as possible. He locked eyes with Cas. _Don't look at his junk. Don't look._  "You're needed in Dea... in my cabin."

"Don't know what's to do there that we couldn't do here," Cas said, his eyes never leaving Dean's.

While Dean floundered for a response, one of the women said, "I didn't sign up for that."

"Then you can go," Cas said, whip-quick and just as sharp.

"What?" A different woman said. It was as much a shock to Dean as it was to her.

"I said, you can go." Cas made a wide gesture, his voice growing louder. "All of you can go."

The bleach-blonde whimperer began to murmur a protest, but Dean cut her off. "There's no need for that. I can just wait outside while you, ah... finish up."

"Hey, no," Cas said as Dean turned away. "Dean, wait." But Dean was already through the beads. Even if Cas wanted him, andeven if he wanted Cas - a part of Dean rejected that idea out of hand, even as his dick disagreed - those women deserved a little more respect than an unexpected stranger barging in on them. An unexpected stranger who they thought was a different dude. Well, not a different dude. A different  _him_.

His sense of shame wilted his erection, and for that Dean was thankful. He hunkered down on the wooden cabin steps to wait.

It wasn't long before the pair of brunettes walked briskly past him, shooting him dirty looks. He didn't entirely blame them. Not too long afterward, the bleach-blonde left. She hesitated, turning at the foot of the steps. "If you wanted to, they'd probably be ok with it," she said. Dean shrugged at her, and she walked away. Did he want to? He'd certainly fantasized about it enough, but that was a way different thing from actually wanting to do it in real life. Right?

The thought was unconvincing even in Dean's own head. Even his future self had called it. So yeah, okay, he kinda wanted Cas, but there was still something weird about Cas-of-the-future. This Cas might be experienced and willing and ( _your other self said it out loud dammit_ _face it like a man_ ) sexy as hell, but this Cas wasn't  _his_ Cas. Dean tried to imagine what 2009 Cas would do with four women and could only laugh.

The last woman emerged with a clatter of beads sooner than Dean had expected. "Hey," she said, hesitating at the top of the steps. Dean rose and turned to face her. "I know it's not my business, what goes on between you two, but... he's real fucked up over you, you know? Maybe you should..." She looked at Dean expectantly, as if she wanted him to finish her sentence. Dean didn't know what to say. After a few seconds, she shook her head. "Never mind," she said, brushing past him.

Dean waited on the steps for about a minute, thinking. It didn't look like there was any movement coming from inside the cabin. Dean wondered if Cas expected him to come back in. Did Cas still want to fuck? Is that what he was waiting for - why he sent the women away? Well, he was gonna be disappointed, but Dean wasn't gonna play games.

Dean entered the cabin loudly this time, crashing through the beaded curtain. "Cas," he started gruffly, but stopped short. Cas had on his previously-worn clothes. He was slumped on the bed with his back towards the door and his face in his hands. "Cas, you ok?"

"Yeah," Cas said, his voice quavering. He sniffed - a long mucousy sound - confirming what Dean had feared. Cas had been crying. "Sorry," he said, wiping at his face. "Gotta pull myself together."

 _What do I do?_ If this were Sammy, Dean might crack a joke, get him to laugh. Tell him to stop being such a girl about it. But this was Cas. Crying because - of him? Because of who he might become? Dean felt a pang of guilt, followed by a flash of anger. _Damn it, I shouldn't feel bad for stuff I haven't done yet._ "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I just-"

"Nah, you're fine," Cas said, his voice steadying. He wiped his eyes one last time, then stood up. "E makes me emotional, that's all."

"That's all?"

"Well..." Cas took a deep breath and put on a smile. He turned watery eyes towards Dean. "You bring back a lot of memories."

"Yeah, well, it looks like I turn into a pretty memorable guy."

The quip brought a grin to Cas's face that made his crow's feet spring to life. "Yeah."

Dean was glad Cas had stopped crying, but the googly eyes he was sending Dean's way weirded him out enough to say, "Look, I know you and me have a thing, now. In the future. But he's not me. Back where I'm from, you and I... we're..."

While Dean struggled to find words for it, Cas cut in, "Still dancing around it, right?"

"No!" Dean said, more sharply than he'd intended. "I mean... hell, I don't know. But we're not... we don't..." Cas started giggling, throwing Dean off track. "What's so funny?"

"You're cute when you're flustered." Cas gazed at Dean with an uncomfortable affection.

"Whatever." Dean probably should be more irritated, but he mostly felt resigned. The future was fucked up; big surprise. "I'm just s'posed to bring you to the other cabin."

Cas nodded, glancing around. He grabbed an overshirt and shrugged it on. "Alright," he said, mostly to himself, smoothing the rumpled fabric. He hugged the shirt tight to his chest for a moment with a long blink, as if bracing himself. Then he looked up at Dean. "Alright. Let's do this."

On their way back to the cabin, Risa spotted them, calling them to a halt. "So I hear there's two of you," she hollered as she approached. "Is that your excuse for what happened last night?"

Dean put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "'Fraid not. You should ask the other guy about that."

Risa seemed to just notice Cas. "Where are you two going?"

"Dean - the other Dean - you know what I mean. He's, ah-"

"Enough said. I'm coming with you." Her voice was curt. Final.

Dean shrugged. He had no real room to argue. As she fell into step with them, he thought to ask, "Why?"

"Because I want to see how awkward it gets with the two of you and him," she nodded towards Castiel.

Dean held in a sigh. Apparently even his 'connection' knew that him and Cas were a thing.  _This is the weirdest_ _fucking weekend..._

* * *

The hotel room was empty, but all of Dean's belongings were still there. The angels had taken him, but where? If there was even the tiniest trace, Castiel would find it. He would find Dean. He  _had to_  find Dean.

As he set to scouring the room, the thought occured to Castiel that if he'd been bolder, if he'd entered the empty room sooner, he might have been able to sense the direction of the angels' flight. His caution certainly saved himself... but it might have damned Dean.

If so, Castiel wasn't sure if he'd be able to forgive himself.

* * *

"Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then that's just how I roll."

Dean had wanted to ride with Cas to have exactly this conversation, but he wasn't expecting it to make him feel so dirty. Dean thought about the drugs. The sex. The tears. The rumpled overshirt that Cas put on like armor before leaving his cabin. Thoughts tumbled through his head, knocking together, building a picture of nihilism and pain. Eventually Dean asked, quietly: "Is it my fault?"

Cas smiled too wide, opening his mouth to say some meaningless reassurance, but Dean cut him off. "Seriously. This whole thing is fucked up, but you... Cas..." Maybe it was the late hour and the lack of sleep, or maybe his future self's hardness was making him want to be softer, but Dean found himself completely spilling his guts. "It kills me to see you like this, man. If any of it's on me, tell me. I can go back, I can do it different."

The smile melted from Castiel's fact and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. Dean watched him, feeling more vulnerable as the empty seconds stretched on. Castiel's face turned and twisted with unreadable emotion. After almost half a minute of silence, Dean needed him to say something. Anything. He pled, "Cas, please."

"I can't," Cas started, his voice catching. He sounded so human it hurt. "I can't tell you to love me, Dean. It doesn't work like that." _  
_

"Is that it?" Dean said. "Cuz buddy, future-me seems pretty torn up over you."

"Torn up," Cas scoffed. "Yeah, more like my asshole after he gets done with it."

"Dude," Dean grimaced.

Cas laughed at that. "Sorry. It's easy to forget that you haven't-"

"Well I haven't, so cool it." After the knee-jerk disgust wore off, what Cas said started to sink in. "Am I really that rough with you?"

Cas nodded.

Dean felt like he should say something. "Shit, man. Sorry."

"I'd say it's not your fault, but... if you could remember this conversation when you get back, I'd appreciate it." A few seconds of silence passed. "Years ago- hell, just around your time- I told you that sex should be  _borne of love_. I really believed that, y'know? And you... you were the one who broke me of that idea." Cas wasn't crying, or even particularly emotional. He was speaking flatly, as if he was discussing the weather. Somehow that made it worse. "Love shouldn't hurt, Dean." 

Dean digested this, wondering how on earth he was supposed to respond.

He didn't get a chance to. Cas took a page from Dean's own playbook, shoving a CD in and cranking the volume up.

* * *

At the first tingling of something approaching, Castiel darted away as fast as his wings could take him. None too soon either, as a powerful flash of Grace emanated from the hotel room not a second after he'd fled.

 _They're back._ Castiel could only pray that they had Dean with them. A part of him reasoned that it would be irrational for them to bring him back, but another part hoped.

Castiel knew he had to be quick and agile. Both of their lives depended on it. He limbered his wings, stretching and flexing. Castiel took a breath and said a prayer.

When he struck it was like lightning.

Castiel grasped Dean from behind, yanking him away, zig-zagging as he retreated far from that hotel room. It was a well-executed maneuver, and when he planted Dean on the ground he knew they were both safe.

There was a warmth in Dean that Castiel didn't expect, a sizing-up and a satisfaction with Castiel's very existance that shone from his face like a sunrise. "That's pretty nice timing, Cas," Dean said, and there was a smile on his lips.

Castiel couldn't help but smile back. He replied, "We had an appointment," which was true. Not the entire truth, but from the gratitude washing over him Castiel knew it would serve.

He almost wanted to tell Dean the entire truth, but there wasn't any time for words because Dean was reaching out to touch him - to grasp his shoulder, as Castiel had grasped his soul to pull it from the pit - and his demeanor become honest. "Don't ever change," he said.

Castiel felt suddenly warm, validated in his decision to watch over Dean. He wanted to watch over him always, to always be this close and this warm. If this was how humans loved, Castiel believed that Anna was right. It was certainly worth the fall.


	10. After The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place towards the last part of "The End" (S5E4), before Dean meets up with Sam.

Dean ended the call with Sam, turning back to face Cas. The angel was still giving him a warm look. After what Dean had been through in their future, he knew exactly what that look meant. From the weepy, drug-addled, much too human Cas of the future, that look had made him uncomfortable. But from  _his_ Cas, here in 2009, it just made his heart beat a little faster, his palms begin to sweat.

 _Dancing around it_ , future Cas said. Dean was okay with that, he told himself. At least for now. "I need to get the Impala back." Dean yawned. He realized that with the time-traveling and all, he had spent the past almost twenty-four hours awake. "And I need to get some sleep." He realized that might sound goofy to Cas, so he quickly corrected, "Some more sleep."

Castiel didn't question him. "I think it's best if we avoid returning to that area right away. Sleep first," he insisted. "I can transport you back to the Impala in the morning."

Dean nodded. He'd go along with almost anything at this point to avoid the third degree, and sleep sounded damn good. "So where's the nearest..."

Before Dean could even finish his sentence, Cas reached out and touched his shoulder. The setting around them had shifted to a hotel room. "...motel?"

Dean stepped back and looked around, realizing it was a nice hotel room. Nicer than he could usually afford.

"Will this serve?" Castiel asked.

Dean nodded, turning in place, taking in the details. Huge flat-screen TV, wide sliding doors framed by silky curtains, and what looked to be a king-sized bed. "It'll do," Dean said, turning to smirk at Cas.

From his expression, it was clear that Castiel didn't catch the sarcasm. "I know it's not the type of place you usually patronize, but I wanted you to be comfortable."

"Right," Dean said, unable to keep the smile off his face. Good old Cas, who needed everything spelled out clear and simple. "It's great," Dean said, hoping that would be straightforward enough. "Thanks."

Dean started stripping off his layers. "What are you gonna do while I conk out?"

"I'd like to stay here with you," Cas said.

Words of rejection came to Dean's lips without him even thinking about it, but this time he bit them back. He turned to look at Cas, whose eyes were already set on Dean. Cas's body was held rigid as always, his arms flat down at his sides. His expression was wide-eyed, his eyebrows slightly raised. Waiting for an answer, but more than that. Almost hopeful.

 _Dancing around it_. Dean cleared his throat, and looked down at his feet. Suddenly self-conscious, he leaned back against the bed and began to unlace his boots. "So, what, just you... me... this king-sized bed..." Dean glanced back up at Cas, who raised an eyebrow and a shoulder in a half-shrug.

Kicking off his shoes, Dean realized that if tomorrow went well, this would be the last night he'd be spending without Sammy. And Cas knew that - he'd heard the phone conversation. Maybe Cas had more game than Dean gave him credit for.

Upon realizing this, Dean let out a low chuckle. "Smooth. Real smooth, man." He looked back up at Cas, who gazed back at him with those clear blue eyes. Dean gave Cas a once-over, contemplating. Something stirred in Dean, a little voice whispering, _isn't this what you've been waiting for?_  Dean found himself saying, impulsively, "You know what? Alright. Let's do it."

The words were spoken without too much thought behind them, but once they were out of his mouth Dean felt his cheeks begin to flush. It was suddenly hard to meet Cas's gaze.

Dean dealt with his uncertainty the only way he knew how: by jumping in with both feet. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor, then hoisted himself up on the bed. He looked up at Cas with his hottest bedroom eyes, biting his lip seductively.

Cas was standing still as stone, rooted to the spot, but his eyes were still on Dean. The expression on them was unreadable.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean said, reaching out with one hand to beckon Cas over.

Cas came towards him, but stopped just out of arm's reach. Dean must've made a face at that, because Cas's brows furrowed and he asked, "You want me in your... personal space?"

"Fuck my personal space, Cas. C'mere."

Cas stepped closer, seeming uncertain, but when Dean grabbed a handful of his overcoat, Cas seemed to get the idea. He settled in between Dean's legs, his eyes going impossibly wide as Dean pulled their bodies closer. Dean stopped just short of kissing him. He wanted - needed - Cas to make a move. It was one thing to hint with the king-sized bed and the googly eyes, but Dean wanted Cas to  _do something_ _._

He was expecting Cas to close the distance between their lips, but instead Cas tipped his head down to scan Dean's body. Dean didn't move, letting Cas take it in. After a long, scorching look, Cas reached out to brush his fingertips against the bare skin just above Dean's waistband.

Dean closed his eyes and sank back onto his elbows, arching his back to encourage Cas to move those fingers lower. Instead, Cas spread his palms across the skin of Dean's waist, groping his way steadily up his chest, bending over him to lightly trace fingertips over the stubble at his throat. Castiel's right hand worked its way to his shoulder, and Dean realized with a twinge that Cas was placing his hand over the scar he had left. Dean couldn't decide whether that was sweet or kinky.

Either way, having Cas touch him everywhere except his aching dick was frustrating, and for some reason weirdly familiar. Dean shook it off, deciding to take matters into his own hands. He reached down to unbutton his fly, running one hand over the bulge in his jeans.

Castiel's hands stopped moving. Dean opened his eyes to find Cas's lips parted, his face turned downwards to take in what Dean was doing with his hands. _  
_

If Dean wasn't fully hard by now, the intensity of Cas's gaze would have done it. Dean slid a hand into his jeans, giving himself a slow pull through the fabric of his boxer-briefs. Cas leaned back a bit, his eyes glued to Dean's groin. He didn't move at all, even when Dean said, "Is that what you want?"

Cas was still and silent for a long few seconds before he seemed to realize that Dean actually wanted a response. "Yes," he breathed, glancing up at Dean's face briefly. 

"I could use a hand," Dean said, pulling the waistband of his underwear down low, until he was just barely concealed. "You think you could do that for me?"

Again Cas took a while to realize that Dean wanted a response. "I have little experience-"

"With matters of the flesh, yeah. I know." Dean was pretty sure that Cas had said something like that before. This time Dean paused what he was doing and chased the feeling of familiarity, searching his memory.

It came to Dean in a flash. It was a dream he'd had - a really weird dream, and Cas had been in it. And now that Dean was thinking about it, he remembered that in his dream, Cas had gone through the same routine of weird, semi-erotic exploration.

Dean stopped what he was doing, scooting into a half-seated position. Cas adjusted around him, still close enough to kiss. "Hey, ah," Dean interjected, feeling awkward. But not as awkward as he was gonna feel if his suspicion was correct. "I'm getting some deja-vu here." Cas blinked at him. "Have we done this before? In a dream?"

"When you were staying at Bobby's," Castiel confirmed.

"Hold up," Dean said. He raised a hand to Cas's shoulder, pressing until he took a step backwards. Then he looked Cas straight in the eye. "That wasn't just a dream? It was real?"

"It was a dream, and it was also real," Cas said, narrowing his eyes slightly in that way that meant he thought he was missing something.

"No, I mean, you were really in my dream, right?"

Cas's voice was deliberate, his head tipping to the side as he spoke. "I was there, yes. As were you."

"I didn't think that was... and that means we've... and then you..." Dean remembered, and in the remembering felt a mixture of frustration and shame. "Dammit, Cas, why didn't you say something?"

Cas's eyes were wide. "I thought I had done something wrong."

"No- I mean, yes." Dean looked down at himself, topless with his jeans undone, feeling incredibly exposed especially next to Castiel's full suit and coat. He fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest. "You can't spy on a man's private thoughts like that." As he said that, Dean remembered another thing about his dream. Something he'd brushed off at the time, but now burned in his mind.

Dean glared at Cas, feeling a comfortable rush of anger despite the angel's kicked-puppy look. "Speaking of, you said something like, you know the way I think when I'm alone." Cas had the good sense to look ashamed, but he didn't respond. Dean pressed, "Care to elaborate?"

Cas's arms raised slightly in a half-shrug, his eyes darting around as if looking for a way out. Then his arms fell to his sides, and he looked at Dean plaintively. "Apparently a sexual fantasy isn't very much different from a prayer," Cas began.  "And when I heard yours-"

"Wait, you can hear that?"

"When it's about me, yes," Castiel said. "A thought with that kind of emotional intensity behind it is like a spiritual broadcast."

"Well... shit," Dean said. He rolled that thought around in his head.

The rest of Castiel's words came haltingly, as if he was stumbling through his sentences, reaching for words to explain but not quite finding the right ones. "I was... curious. So I went to you, and I... observed."

"You _observed_?" Dean felt his face scrunching up in disbelief. "From where? How the hell didn't I notice?"

"I cloaked myself from human senses. I did reveal myself, once, but Zachariah-"

"Oh, Zachariah knows too? Jesus, Cas!" Dean's voice rose in volume of its own volition. "Is there anyone who doesn't know what I think about when I spank it?" When Cas opened his mouth as if to answer, Dean cut him off with, "You know what? I don't want to know." His mouth opened and out poured the words, "I can't deal with this right now, not after the night I've had. I need to get outta here."

Dean shoved himself off the bed, making a beeline for his shirt. After pulling it back over his body, he began to gather the rest of his clothes in a rumpled pile.

"Dean."

Dean ignored him, grabbing up his shoes.

"Dean, your car is over five hundred miles away. How are you planning-"

"Well then take me to it," Dean snapped, loud enough to be shouting. He glared at Castiel, whose brows were knit in a look halfway between concerned and contrite. "Or if you won't, then get outta my way."

When Cas reached out to touch him, Dean's first angry instinct was to shrink away, to prevent him from taking even that comfort. Cas had to say, "I'll take you," before Dean let him make contact.

The world shifted around them and then in a flash they were at the Impala, the pavement hard and cold beneath Dean's bare feet. Dean scrambled in his pockets for the keys, brushing past Cas in angry silence.

Dean was shoving his balled clothing into the passenger seat when Cas said, simply, "I'm sorry."

The words made Dean pause. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Then he turned to face the angel who was still standing in the spot where they'd landed, regret written in every line on his face. It was an expression he'd last seen on the Cas from 2014, and all of a sudden Dean felt like the biggest jackass in the world. "I know, okay? I'm just tired of having everyone up in my business, alright? I've got Zach hunting me down while I'm sleeping, and now I find out that you're watching me when I..." Dean trailed off, shaking his head. He couldn't even say it out loud.

"I don't," Cas said. "Not anymore. I can't hear your prayers."

"Prayers," Dean laughed. But when Dean looked back at Cas, the angel's face was sincerely remorseful. "Well hey, that's somethin'," Dean managed. When the angel's face fell even further, Dean forced himself to say, "It's alright." He allowed himself to chase that with, "Or at least it will be. Gimme some time, okay?"

Cas nodded once. Then he glanced downward, and he was gone.

Dean sat down in the Impala. Too much had happened to him. Too much had always happened to him - and from what he could see, too much was pretty much what he had to look forward to. Right now in the car it was still and quiet, and Dean took a moment to revel in his solitude.

Though he wouldn't be alone for long, not if Zach and his boys were still on the lookout. Dean leaned over in the seat to brush the road dirt off the bottom of his feet before pulling his shoes on. It was gonna be a long, lonely night with just Dean and the inside of his head. But at least tomorrow there'd be morning, and Sammy.


	11. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during "Abandon All Hope..." (S5E10), after the group photo and before they hunt the devil.

Lying on the floor of Bobby's bedroom, Dean listened to his brother's breathing grow louder and steadier as Sam fell asleep. Dean's own mind refused to settle.

Jo was right; Dean had been trying to lay the last-night-on-earth speech on her. He was a little embarrassed that she'd seen through him. He'd have been a little more embarrassed if she knew how truly lonesome he felt. How shook-up he was. How strongly he craved another human's touch, even just for a night. If Jo knew all that, she'd really have a field day at his expense. The big tough man gone soft.

Alone in the dark, Dean had nothing to distract himself. No radio to crank up too loud to think, no one to crack jokes at or with. It wasn't even fear that kept him awake, but a hollow feeling just below his diaphragm and a restlessness in his limbs. The longer he lay there, the more disquieted he felt. He should be getting some damn sleep, like everyone else in the house.

Well. Almost everyone. Cas would still be up. Probably sitting at the kitchen table staring at nothing. Just waiting, like he wanted to do the last time he was facing almost certain death.

A low and dirty thought crept up in the back of Dean's mind.  _Last night on earth and all..._

Cas would do it, too. That was all out in the open now, and there wasn't any excuse to pretend it wasn't true. Yeah, it was weird to know that Cas had spied on him, but it was hard for Dean to maintain a sense of righteous anger about it. After all, Cas never asked to see Dean's mental porno reel. It was a realization that snuck up on Dean some days after he'd stormed off. Dean had been driving, his mind was idling, and it hit him with a sudden flush of embarassment:  _Cas hadn't gone looking. I was the one who put that in his head_.

Plus, Cas had been cool the last few times they'd seen each other. Keeping his distance, nothing out of line. That almost made it worse. If Cas had gone creepy or clingy, that'd give Dean a good reason to keep him at arm's length.

Instead he'd been fuckin' respectful. Kind, even. Didn't think once to hold it over Dean's head. Probably blamed himself for fucking things up.

Dean's insides stirred uncomfortably. Dean spent months beaming his spank bank straight into Cas's head, spent those same months pretending to his face that those feelings didn't exist. Cas talks about it once, honestly and openly, and he thinks he's the one who fucked up?  _Cas doesn't deserve to go out with that in his head,_ Dean reasoned.

A different part of him chimed in,  _He wants you. He'll be thrilled to get your pants off._ This was closer to the truth, close enough to send a tingle through his groin. A memory flashed through Dean's mind, of the look on Cas's face looking down at Dean, hard. It was enough to get him half-hard again.

 _You want him._  It might take a boner to get him to admit it, even to himself, but Dean couldn't truly deny it. Not when Dean's been jerking off to fantasies about the angel for going on a year now. Not when Dean's already offered himself up once before.

The memories made Dean so hard that the front of his underwear was starting to strain. And Cas was sitting just downstairs, waiting, willing, practically gift-wrapped for him.

Following his dick, Dean decided to get out of bed.

"Bed" was a sleeping bag on the floor, same as always. Dean quietly extracted himself and paused for a second, contemplating putting something on over his undershorts and tee. _Nah._ _Cas'll want to see this._ That thought kept him hard as he crept past Sammy into the hall. Past the room where the girls were sleeping, down the stairs, taking extra care not to wake Bobby up as Dean padded barefoot past the library doors.

As he'd suspected, Castiel was sitting silently in the kitchen. His hands were folded on the table, shoulders in that semi-permanent slump of his. Cas's head turned as Dean stepped into the doorway.

"Dean?" There was concern in Cas's voice.

Dean put a finger to his lips, glancing towards the library. Then he beckoned for Cas to come closer.

Castiel rose and approached Dean, surprisingly silent for all his layers. He stopped a respectful arm's length away, arching his eyebrows into a questioning look.

Dean glanced around. "A little privacy?" He whispered.

Cas's brows furrowed, but he understood. He reached out to touch Dean's shoulder, and Dean felt the uncomfortable sensation in his belly that he knew meant they were being transported.

The new place was even darker, Dean barely able to even make out Castiel's silhouette. When Cas snapped his fingers to turn on a light, Dean immediately recognized the place.

"The basement?"

"Do we need to go farther?" Cas asked.

Dean cracked a cocky smile. "Yeah," he said, stepping in close, "but we can do it here." As Dean reached beneath his coats to press a hand to his chest, Castiel went still. The only thing he moved were his eyes, sending his gaze flickering over Dean's hands and body.

Dean paid no mind, pawing down Cas's torso to his waistband. "It's our last night on earth," Dean said as he undid Cas's belt buckle. "I can't sleep. You can't sleep." Cas's fly was unbuttoned now, and Dean started to untuck Cas's shirt. "And I... well, I can't stop thinkin' about you." Not bothering to unbutton the shirt, Dean wormed one of his hands up and underneath to palm the flesh underneath.

Cas's composure broke as Dean's skin met his. He inhaled sharply, tipping his chin to fix Dean with a hungry gaze. His fingers balled into fists.

"I know you want me," Dean continued, holding eye-contact with Cas as he gripped the angel's hip with one hand. Dean ran his other hand over the tent in his own underwear, squeezing his cock through the fabric. "And right now? I am rock-hard for you."

Cas immediately looked down to where Dean was holding himself, the outline of Dean's erection plainly visible through the thin cloth pulled taut by Dean's grip. The small, dark sound that fell from Cas's lips made Dean's dick throb and his knees weaken. "You like to watch, don'cha?" Dean said. When the angel nearly broke his neck nodding, his eyes wide and blue and glued to Dean's hand on his cock, Dean had an idea.

Dean stepped backwards, keeping his eye on Cas - who had eyes only for Dean's groin. Dean backed up until he felt the edge of one of Bobby's worktables against his thighs. He scooted up onto the table, keeping his balance with his left hand, and he used his more-practiced right to tease at his dick through his underpants.

"How 'bout I give you a show?"

Cas didn't respond verbally, but the heat in his eyes was enough confirmation for Dean.

Dean rubbed slow circles in the fabric against the underside of his cock, still teasing. Watching Cas watching him was making it hard to stay slow. Part of Dean hoped that if he teased himself long enough, maybe Cas would start doing something. Giving instructions, maybe. That'd be nice. Or maybe he'd come over and jump on Dean, consumed with lust. But the angel just stared like a starving man at a piece of pie.

His own teasing touches were starting to drive Dean up a wall. His cock demanded harder, tighter, faster. Reaching the upper edge of his patience, Dean spoke up. "You wanna help me out, or are you just gonna watch?"

"I prefer to watch." Neither Cas's face nor his posture changed as he spoke.

"Alright, but c'mere." At this, Cas glanced up at Dean's face, as if checking to make sure it was okay. "This show's for you," Dean said.

Reinforcing his words, Dean leaned forward and pulled off his shirt. He tossed it aside, looking back to see Cas stepping towards him. He stopped short, just out of arm's reach, but Dean supposed it was good enough. His dick needed attention _now_ , and Dean wasn't going to wait.

Dean hooked his thumb into the waistband of his underpants and pulled out and down to reveal his hard cock. Dean adjusted a bit, easing the underwear down his hips until he was fully exposed. He didn't hesitate to wrap his hand around his dick, but he forced himself not to start stroking right away. Instead he spread his legs and canted his hips to give Cas a good look. "I bet you missed seeing this," Dean said, squeezing at the base, pointing it directly at Cas's face.

Cas nodded, once, slowly. His breathing was shallow, and his forehead was creased with the intensity of his stare.

Dean finally allowed his hand to start moving, but kept the rhythm slow. "So what is it about watching me that gets you off?" Dean asked. If Cas wasn't gonna touch him, he could at least talk him through it.

Cas didn't answer at first. Dean had to still his hand, prompting Cas to look up at his face. Upon reading Dean's expression, Cas finally answered, "Lots of things."

Dean went back to stroking, a little faster this time. "Like what?"

"Um..." The silence draw out as Cas stared, transfixed.

"C'mon man. Give me somethin' to work with," Dean said. Despite his plea, he found Cas's attention to be more of a turn-on than expected.  _He's too hot and bothered to even talk_ , Dean thought, and his hand sped up despite himself.

"Your body," Cas said. "The way your body moves when you touch yourself like this is... a work of art." Dean's hand had found a comfortable rhythm now, and he bucked his hips a bit, just to show off.

Cas licked his lips before continuing. "I like that you think of me."

"Oh yeah?"

"No one's ever thought of me that way," Cas said, speaking more freely now. Possibly realizing that his words were turning Dean on, goading him into a faster pace. "And I like... when you call out my name."

"Uh-huh," Dean grunted. He could feel the first drips of moisture start to leak from the tip of his cock, and his bucking hips weren't just for show anymore.

"I enjoy your thoughts the most," Cas continued. Dean's eyes screwed shut as he focused on the twin sensations of his hand on his dick and Castiel's voice in his ears. "Your fantasies fascinate me. I've only ever seen those acts from a distance."

Dean never thought he'd be asking this, but he was too horny to hold it back: "D'you think you'd ever want to help me act 'em out?"

"Of course," Cas said, with no hesitation. Dean's eyes opened wide to gape at the angel. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. "You'll have to teach me-"

"Oh, yeah, I'll teach you good," Dean said, getting lost in the moment, in Cas's hot stare and the pre-come slicking his hand. "Wanna learn how to jerk me off?"

"Yes." Cas was leaning in now, taking in Dean's increasingly frantic movements with careful attention.

Dean was close now, his whole arm moving in quick jerks. "Yeah, you wanna learn how to suck me till I come?"

"Yes."

"Ah, fuck..." Dean wanted to tell Cas to get on his knees, to demand Cas's mouth around his cock _right now_ , but he was too close. "You wanna watch me come?" He didn't even know if Cas knew what that meant, didn't care, didn't even pause long enough to let him speak. "I'm gonna come. Cas, I'm gonna-"

Dean's whole body tightened as he peaked, thick arcs that splashed to the floor between him and his angel. He kept stroking until the spurts became a slow drip, slowed but didn't stop as his muscles unwound. 

Castiel was still watching with the same intensity as Dean pulled at himself languidly, grinning, flushed and loose from the aftershocks. 

"So... good show?"

"Yes," Cas said immediately. "It's much better when all parties consent."

Dean chuckled, gripping the table underneath him with both palms. "Shoulda said something earlier." Almost sheepishly he eased himself back onto the floor and pulled up his underpants. Then, careful not to step in his mess, he approached Cas. Their eyes met, stayed connected as Dean stepped in close.

"Anything I can do for you?" Dean asked, reaching out to smooth his palms against Castiel's rumpled shirt.

To his surprise, Cas shrugged.

"Seems a little unfair to leave you hangin'," Dean probed. 

"I'm quite satisfied."

Still, Dean ran his hands down to Cas's hips, then a little further, cupping... and then drawing away. "Huh. Not even a semi."

"I don't think I experience physical arousal the way humans do," Cas said flatly.

"Sure." Dean tried to shrug it off, over-casually walking away to retrieve his shirt. He stood with his shirt in his hands, looking down at the splatters on the floor. "I'd just figured I'd have  _some_ effect on you."

"Dean," Cas protested. Dean felt a gentle touch against his back and turned to see Cas standing close, his arm outstretched to press fingertips to Dean's skin. "Do you really think I'm unaffected?" he asked.

An unfamiliar warmth spread through Dean's chest. "I guess not," he conceded. "And hey, man, thanks," he said, reaching out to pat Cas on the arm in what he hoped was a manly fashion. "Somethin' about gettin' my rocks off really helps clear my head, y'know?" Dean glanced at Cas's face and then chuckled. "Well, I guess not. But still. Thanks." Dean shrugged his shirt over his head.

"It was my pleasure," Castiel said as Dean finished dressing. "And if we do live through tomorrow... I'd like you to teach me those things you talked about."

Dean felt a flutter in his belly as he turned to look at Cas. "Really?" Dean talked big when he was riled up, but he didn't expect to be taken seriously. Though a part of Dean should've expected, with Cas and his overly literal mind, that the answer would be:

"Yes. Really."

The thing he'd been dreaming about for months, and it was simple as that. Dean felt like a dog that had finally caught up with the car he was chasing. It took his mind a few seconds to let it actually sink in. "Wow... okay. Yeah. Um..." A smile swept unexpectedly over Dean's face. "Great."

A mental alarm went off, and the smile fell away. "You can't tell Sammy, okay? About any of this." Cas narrowed his eyes, but before he could raise any objections Dean pressed, "Seriously. I don't want it being a thing."

"Why?"

"Because I just don't want him to know, okay?" Dean snapped. He caught himself, reined it in. "C'mon, Cas. For me?"

Cas took a deep breath, hesitated... and then nodded. "If it's important to you."

"It is," Dean insisted. With that, the last bit of tension went out of Dean's shoulders. "I'm gonna see if I can catch a couple hours." Dean headed for the stairs.

"Goodnight, Dean," Cas called softly after him.

 

* * *

 

As Dean was settling back into his sleeping bag, Castiel sat himself back down at the kitchen table and resumed his vigil.

Castiel felt like a beam of light. He had to look at his hands to make sure he wasn't radiating. All that fear and doubt he'd been gathering up into himself... gone. A slight smile sat on his lips for hours as he replayed the scene in his head, until Bobby began to stir in the other room just before the dawn.

 

(About six months later, after Bobby got his legs back, Bobby discovered that a patch of his basement floor was covered in dried, crusty streaks of gross. It took two moppings and a good scrub to clean up the remains of that night, and Bobby never did realize what it was that he was cleaning.)


	12. Making the Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter takes place during Sam, Interrupted (S5E11); part of it takes place during The Song Remains The Same (S5E13).

The days after Jo and Ellen died were rough on all of them, and Dean responded by pushing everything down deep. It wasn't until he was lying alone, in a psych ward of all places, that his mind wandered enough to think of Cas's offer again.

Plus, it was better than thinking about all the stuff the shrink had dragged out of him today.

Dean even had his own private room for once in his life. He could splay out buck naked if he wanted. So he did. One hand was tucked behind his head, elbow splayed over the edge of the bed. His other hand wrapped around his cock.

He'd wanted to go slow, savor the privacy. Give himself some time to really get into it. But Dean had started with the question -  _Do I really want Cas to get me off?_  - and he was finding that the answer, at least according to his dick, was a resounding  _yes_.

Now Dean had a much better idea of how that would go. Cas would be hesitant. From the way he acted, Cas would probably need to be told what to do in painstaking detail. Not just  _faster, harder_ but  _put your hand here_ and  _curl your fingers like this_. Not just  _deeper, tighter_ but  _get down on your knees_  and  _open your mouth_.

And  _put your lips around it_.

And  _hold still, let me do the work._

And the entire time, Cas would be watching. Dean could be pounding the angel's mouth balls-deep, and Cas would keep on gazing up at Dean with that gorgeously dirty stare, equal parts holy reverence and animal lust.

Cas would be watching right now if his angel radio hadn't been switched off.

Dean's eyes squinted closed and his mind circled that thought, picturing the look on the angel's face. Imagining those times where he didn't even know it, but Cas was standing there, out of sight, just staring. Remembering how Cas looked at him. Remembering the sounds he made, the things he said.

When Dean came it was strong enough to make his whole body jerk. He let himself be loud, grunting and gasping.

As he lay with a sticky pool cooling on his belly, Dean thought,  _Yeah. I'm gonna have to do that._

* * *

Dean finally got his chance weeks later, when he was awakened in the middle of a dream about strippers and- Anna.

He shot straight up from bed, Anna's voice still in his mind... and his jeans uncomfortably tight. It had been one hell of a dream.

He glanced over at Sammy, who was still sound asleep. Anna wanted to meet him - told him to hurry. But she had also said some things about Cas. Some things that didn't make any sense. Dean took another look at his sleeping brother. Didn't make any sense to wake him up yet, he thought. He rose quietly and slipped out the door, just like when they were kids.

Dean dialed Cas, first with the thought of asking him about Anna. But his thumb hesitated on the "call" button. Images from his dream swirled in his mind. His dick was still half-hard. Sammy was sound asleep back in the hotel room. These thoughts tumbled in his head, gave him a new idea.

He tucked the phone back into his pocket, then glanced around. He was pretty sure most of the rooms around him weren't occupied.

Still, when he slipped the bolt on one of the rooms, he was relieved to find it empty. He turned on the light, drew the blinds, and sat himself on the end of one of the beds. His phone in hand, he brought up Cas's number again.

Again he hesitated on the call button - but for different reasons. His chest was tight with anticipation. He almost couldn't believe he was gonna do this.

His hard dick wanted to, obviously. And he'd already done it once before. But that was the end of the world, a part of Dean rationalized. Calling Cas up for a booty call... that felt different, somehow. He did have actual reasons to call Cas, he could just do that. But his erection was insistent, distracting him. He couldn't call Cas just to ask some innocent questions, not when he was so freakin' hard.

 _Maybe I'll just jerk off,_ he thought. _I got this whole room to myself. Why not?_

Dean lay back on the bed, unzipped his fly, and got right down to business. He thought of the strippers from his dream. He thought of them touching each other, peeling each other's clothes off. He thought of...

Cas, looking at him wide-eyed as he stroked.

His hand picked up at the thought, and Dean felt a pang. He was finally alone, dick hard, thinking of Cas... was he really gonna let this opportunity pass?

He dug his phone back out with his left hand, keeping a steady rhythm with his right. Calling Cas didn't seem like such a bad idea when Dean had his dick in his hand.  _Here goes nothin',_ he thought, pressing the call button finally.

Cas picked up on the second ring. "Dean?"

"Hey, Cas." I, ah..." Dean started stroking faster, making it easier for him to talk dirty. "I got somethin' for ya."

"What is it?"

"My dick." There was a moment of silence on the line. Dean had a sudden moment of worry. "You interested?"

"Yes," Cas said quickly.

Reassured, Dean let loose a little. "I'm here all by myself, just me and my hand. Thinkin' about those things I said I'd teach you." The more Dean talked, the hotter he got. "Wanna come give me a hand?"

"Yes," Cas repeated, his voice impossibly husky. Dean groaned, then stopped himself. Couldn't get too carried away - he might come before the angel even got there.

"Alright," Dean said, sitting up. He posed himself at the edge of the bed, pulling at his underpants to just barely cover himself up, to give the angel something to unwrap when he got there.

Cas was in the room before Dean could even finish telling him the room number.

Dean let his phone drop to the bed as he watched the angel take him in, jeans loose around his hips, his cock achingly hard. Castiel's eyes went wide as saucers, but he kept still and silent for long seconds.

"So..." Dean said, shifting slightly to give Cas a better look. Cas licked his lips, sending a tingle through Dean's groin. "What about that hand, huh?"

“How can I help?” Cas asked, so earnest that Dean couldn’t help but grin.

“C’mere,” Dean said.

Cas approached him, stopping a few feet away.

“Closer,” Dean said.

As Cas stepped within arm’s reach, Dean grabbed at his hips, positioning the angel between his spread knees. Dean gazed up at Cas, the two of them unblinking, taking each other in. After a few seconds Dean said gruffly, just as he'd fantasized: “On your knees.”

Cas didn't break eye contact as he knelt at Dean's feet, and Dean was harder than he'd ever been in his life. He glanced down at himself briefly. When Dean looked back at Cas, he saw that Cas’s gaze had followed his, locked on to the bulge in his underwear. “You like that, huh?” Dean said, knowing that Cas’s response would be:

“Yes.”

Dean had to keep himself from groaning with need. “Have at it.”

Cas glanced up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he looked back down at Dean's cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, a quizzical expression on his face.

Dean had expected this, but he hadn’t expected that he’d be so turned on by it. Dean canted his hips just a little, his erection spreading the flaps of his open fly a little wider, popping out towards Cas. When the angel didn’t move, Dean said in a rough voice, “Touch me.”

Dean had expected the light touch, the most gentle caress through the fabric of his underclothes. He hadn’t expected Cas to look up at his face instead of his dick with a reverent expression, like he might look at God himself, and it made Dean feel like he could come instantly... if only the angel would give him a little more.

Dean arched into Cas’s hand to encourage him, groaning low in his throat at the friction it caused. “Touch me, Cas. Take my dick out and touch me.”

Cas’s gaze fell back down to his hand on Dean’s crotch. He examined the fabric, found the opening in the front of Dean’s briefs, and slipped the fabric down to expose him. Dean’s cock now jutted out into the space between them. Cas studied it for a moment, and Dean could hardly stand it. “Touch me,” Dean repeated, pleading.

Cas lightly rested his fingertips against the head of Dean’s cock, and Dean hissed at the contact. Cas  gently stroked down the top of it, the lightest of pressure with just the tips of his fingers, as if exploring its texture. Cas traced gentle lines up and down the length, tipping it up to trace along the underside, then back up to the head.

Dean was about to lose his damn mind. He was so hard, and Cas’s just kept teasing him with his fingertips. Dean held on as long as he could, panting hard, fingers digging into the rough motel blanket. Finally he demanded, “Wrap your hand around it.”

Cas looked back up at Dean’s face as he did as he was told, grasping Dean’s cock. Cas held his hand still, cradling it in his palm, unmoving. Frustrated now, Dean growled, “You’ve seen me do it before, right? Do it like I do, jerk me off.”

Cas nodded, looking back to his hand on Dean’s dick. Slowly, carefully, he began to move his hand – up, and then back down. Up, and then down.

Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation. Cas’s grasp was feather-light, his movements slow and deliberate. It was just enough friction to drive Dean up and up, to make his hips move of their own free will, thrusting into Cas’s hands, desperate for more… but Cas didn’t squeeze any harder, or move any faster. Just that light touch encircling his dick, that slow pace making him want more. It was maddening.

The longer it went on, the more Dean wanted it. He was gasping, bucking, squeezing the covers in his fists so tight he was afraid it might rip, but Cas kept to his gentle rhythm, not changing a thing. When Dean finally opened his eyes, Cas was looking right at him, marveling.

That look of wonder was enough to make Dean moan despite himself. He needed to come, needed it so bad. He couldn't take any more explanations, couldn't wait one more second. Dean reached down himself, clamping his hand over Cas’s, tightening his grip by force.

As soon as he felt the renewed friction, Dean thrust his hips forward, fucking into Castiel's hand. “That’s it, Cas,” Dean said, clamping Cas's hand down hard, making a tight hole to fuck. “Let me," he panted as he kept thrusting. "Just let me…” Dean’s hips pumped fast and hard into Cas’s fist, taking what he wanted. He moaned and whined with every breath, too far gone to even notice. His whole body was straining, eyes squeezed shut, feeling nothing but the friction on his cock and the need for even more. "Cas, fuck, Cas..."

"Dean," Cas groaned, and Dean opened his eyes to look down into Cas’s reverent gaze.

It pushed him right over the edge. Dean almost screamed from the release, slamming his hips forward. He shuddered for what felt like minutes, thrusting through the aftershocks into Cas’s hand, holding it tight on him until every last drop was milked out of him. Only then did he release Castiel.

Dean sank back on his elbows, flushed and exhausted. An easy smile came to his lips, his head lolling as he took in the sight of Cas, still kneeling at his feet, still fixing him with an adoring gaze. Dean felt like he was floating, euphoric. It was unreal. A fantasy come to life.

"Holy shit, dude," Dean said shakily, still catching his breath.

A faint crease appeared in Cas's forehead. "Is that good, or bad?"

"Oh, I feel real good right now," Dean said. "I gotta tell you, man, you've got a lot to learn, but... that was hot." Cas nodded serenely, looking as satisfied as Dean's ever seen in an angel. Dean closed his eyes and let himself relax fully onto the bed. He knew the warmth in his chest was fleeting, which is exactly why he wanted to soak in it as much as possible.

He didn't know if it was the endorphins coursing through his system or what, but all Dean really wanted was to just curl up with Cas and fall asleep. he had half a mind to ask Cas to come up on the bed with him. To kick off his jeans and sink into the angel's arms.

The other half of Dean's mind revolted against the idea. The usual chorus of shame sang in Dean's head. _Could you get any more gay? What the hell is wrong with you? This was just sex. There's more important shit going on. Man up._

The warmth in his chest faded.

Dean remembered the reason he'd wanted to call Cas in the first place. Angels, Heaven, the Apocalypse.

He sighed and forced himself to get up. There was business to be done.


	13. Troubled Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place immediately after the last scene of My Bloody Valentine (S5E14).
> 
> Inspired mainly by [this clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9kz91HAYt8).
> 
> TW: Emetophobia

Dean stood in Bobby's scrapyard, eyes turned up towards the heavens. "Please," he begged, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I can't..." Tears welled in his eyes. "I need some help." Dean was begging, he didn't even know who, but he was flat-out begging. "Please..."

The tears that overflowed his eyes made everything worse. Too much, everything was just too much. Dean dropped to his knees from the weight of it. There he was nothing he could do. He felt a scream rising in his chest. He couldn't get enough air. 

 _Drown it._ Dean scrambled on hands and knees for the bottle he'd dropped. There was grit on the lip of the bottle, but he drank that down too. He drank until he choked, sputtering and coughing until his airways cleared. Then caught his breath just enough to take another long pull off the bottle, this time until he retched.

Afterwards he did feel empty. Clear-headed too, and only slightly ashamed. Dean pulled his overshirt off and used it to wipe the tears and whiskey off his face, then shakily rose to his feet. He took a minute to get his balance. The scrapyard was quiet. Peaceful. Dean looked at Bobby's house, knowing that Sam was screaming his head off in the basement cell, seeing who-knows-what in the throes of demon-blood detox. And Bobby himself, either sleeping or moping, wasn't much better. And Cas...

Dean didn't know what to think about Cas.

His head was swimming from the liquor. On autopilot, Dean's feet walked him to Bobby's front steps and sat him down, his elbows propped up on his knees, the whiskey bottle dangling from his clasped hands. Cas would be waiting for him inside. He didn't know what to think about Cas.

He didn't know what to think of _himself_ for wanting Cas the way he did. Not wanting Cas's dick- though Dean reminded himself he'd barely even touched it, so that shouldn't even be part of it. But wanting Cas's comfort. Dean wanted to feel the way he did when Cas looked up at him with holy adoration. Dean didn't have words for it, couldn't describe it, but wanting that from Cas made Dean feel dirtier than sex ever could.

Dean took a swig off the bottle, ignoring how it seared his throat. Though that one swig was enough. He set the bottle down, grimacing.

This thing with Cas was different from any relationship, hookup, one night stand he'd ever had in his life. Dean loved sex, he was  _good_ at sex. But there was nothing to be _good at_ with Cas. He couldn't even see what the angel got out of it, even as it was obvious that Cas loved it.

 _He does love it, doesn't he?_ Half a smile teased the corners of Dean's mouth.  _He doesn't know the first thing to do with it, but he eats it up when he has the chance._ Dean hadn't given him too many chances recently, given their last case involved lovers who "ate it up" a little too literally. 

But tonight the case was closed. _(Castiel looks at you like you're the world-)_  The entire second floor was empty.  _(-he wants you like no one else has ever wanted you, like no one else ever could-)_  And Dean needed a distraction.  _(-you're drunk, too drunk to stop yourself-)_

Dean didn't know what to think about Cas, but Dean knew what he wanted to feel. And he knew Cas could give him that.

* * *

Castiel sat in his accustomed spot at Bobby's kitchen table, considering the expression "going outside to get air". Houses did not lack atmospheric gases, and there was no meaningful difference in the pressure or quality outside compared to in. It was clearly a lie, and just as clearly meant to obscure Dean's obvious distress.

When Dean returned from his trip outside it was clear that his distress had morphed into a sense of urgency, a strong intent that Castiel could feel before Dean even entered the room. He was on his feet and ready when Dean crossed the threshold. 

Dean hardly looked at him, didn't speak a word. He just grabbed a fistful of Cas's coat and turned on his heel, pulling the angel behind him. Castiel followed without hesitation. By the time they were halfway up the stairs, Castiel knew what was going on.

He had anticipated an invitation like this from the moment Sam was placed into Bobby's holding cell. Castiel was becoming accustomed to Dean seeking him out when Sam was otherwise occupied. He did not understand the reason for secrecy, nor did he entirely understand the timing. He was learning not to question such things, to simply appreciate the opportunity to savor Dean Winchester's ministrations.

There was something different within Dean tonight, something hauntingly desperate. Once the bedroom door was closed behind them, Dean came at Castiel like a man possessed. His hands went straight to Cas's tie, ripping it from his throat. Dean yanked the collars away from Castiel's neck, bending to latch his mouth at the exposed flesh, sucking, biting. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but Castiel was more aware of the heat under his fingertips when he brushed them against the back of Dean's neck, the vibrations of the moan that touch elicited.

Dean broke away, his hands moving to peel his shirt off his body while his gaze stayed transfixed on Cas. This was the more incredible thing: seeing Dean in full knowledge and desire, and being seen in kind. Dean's body was a sublime sight on its own. But this responsivity- Dean displaying himself not just _to_ Castiel but _for_  him- this was truly transcendental.

Castiel couldn't take his eyes off Dean's face. It held incredible complexities, layers of contradiction. All of it directed at Castiel. He was vaguely aware that Dean discarded his belt and boots from the distant sound of them hitting the floor. Then Dean came at him again, first with fingertips pressing hot whorls into his waist, then with the rest of him. Naked from the waist up, radiating body heat and erotic intention.

He reveled in the minute details of Dean's movements. The tension in Dean's shoulders, his flexing shoulder blades, the rhythmic pressure of his hips that sent sparks up Dean's spinal cord each time their bodies made contact, the fingertips gripping into the meat of his vessel's waist, the softness of Dean's lips scraping the stubble of his vessel's jaw, the brush of Dean's hair against his vessel's cheek. 

Castiel laid greedy hands on Dean's flesh, marveling at how each touch seemed to stoke the fire within Dean. He mimicked Dean's grip on his own waist, and felt Dean's lips part in gasping breaths against the skin of his vessel's neck. He moved his hands up Dean's back and felt the rumbling in Dean's chest as he moaned. He ran his fingernails up Dean's neck and into his hair and Dean leaned his whole weight into it, tipping his head back drunkenly, his eyes closed and mouth agape.

"Beautiful," Castiel breathed.

Dean responded to this with a perplexing flash of emotion - shame? anger? - but before either of them could process it, Dean mashed his lips into Cas's in a sloppy approximation of a kiss. Caresses turned into shoves, and Castiel allowed himself to be maneuvered backwards until the bed bumped up against the backs of his legs. Dean kept pushing until Castiel's back hit the mattress and Dean was braced above him on hands and knees. 

Then Dean leaned back on his haunches and Castiel was struck dumb.

Dean pulled his fly open to expose himself, but there was so much to take in that Castiel barely noticed. Dean's body weight was pressed down onto him, and Dean's bare skin stretched pleasingly above him, and Dean's eyes gazed upon him with inexplicable emotion.

"S'this whatcha want?" Dean slurred, pawing at himself.

"Yes," Castiel said, knowing that it wasn't enough. Dean was asking if Castiel wanted to see Dean pleasure himself, but that was so insubstantial compared to the rest of it. There was so much more, and Castiel didn't have the words to express that.

Dean's hand was pumping hard, his shoulders tensing, but there was something different. Instead of the laser-focus of arousal building towards climax, Dean's thoughts were clouded with frustration. Dean's features were contorted not in pleasure but in stress.

This troubled Castiel. Had he said something wrong? Castiel tried to elaborate: "This way, or any other."

Dean's hand slowed to a stop. "What's'at s'posed to mean?" Dean's heart was suddenly heavy, his face searching. It struck Castiel, not for the first time, how little Dean thought he was worth.

Castiel grasped hopelessly at a way to say it. "I mean... I want... I want _you_. Everything. Anything. As long as it's with you."

Dean blinked. He took a deep breath. His eyes watered and then he tried _not_ to blink so they wouldn't spill. "Well, shit," Dean said, immediately regretting saying anything because of the quaver in his voice. He slumped to one side, crawling off of Castiel to sit crookedly on the corner of the mattress, face buried in his hands.

Then Dean began to cry, and Castiel had no idea why.

* * *

Dean couldn't stop crying for the most ridiculous reasons and that only made it worse. First Dean couldn't get it up, which was embarrassing enough. Then Cas had to go and say all that sappy bullshit that he probably didn't mean, and Dean definitely didn't deserve. The angel's eyes were too blue, the pitiful expression on Cas's face too much like love.

Now Dean was sobbing uncontrollably, like a little crybaby. Again. Right in front of Cas. Ruining everything, just like always.

Weight shifted on the bed behind him. "Dean..."

"Go to hell." Dean's voice faltered, betraying his attempt at a facade. There was no way to hide his quaking shoulders, no amount of self-control that would make the tears stop dripping down his face.

"I don't understand."

"Good!" Dean spat. "I'm all fucked up, Cas. I'm not... I can't..." The words turned back into sobs, each one adding to the shame in Dean's belly. And Cas was just sitting there, watching Dean humiliate himself. Dean forced the words out, between heaving breaths, "Go. Away." 

There was a whoosh of air and the weight was gone from the bed.

Dean curled himself into a fetal position, hating every tear that fell more than the one before, hating himself more than any of them.

* * *

Castiel sat quietly at the kitchen table. He felt certain he must have erred, but he couldn't begin to fathom how. Cas suspected that asking would just make it worse. He'd done enough harm already. He could feel Dean through the layer of ceiling and floor, still suffering, still ashamed for reasons that were beyond Castiel's understanding. He could feel how deeply Dean craved comfort, somehow coexisting with an equally strong desire to be hidden, to disappear. 

Humans were full of such wondrous and terrible contradiction - Dean Winchester more than most. Castiel meditated upon this topic for some hours. At some point, his meditations turned into prayers.

He was thus distracted enough not to notice Dean was awake until he was standing in the kitchen doorway. Castiel turned to asssess the potential threat, was brought short by the sight of Dean shirtless and dissheveled, puppy-dog eyes glinting green and gold in the dawning sunlight.

Not wanting to repeat the mistakes of the night before, Castiel said nothing.

The two of them looked at each other for long seconds, weighing their thoughts. A cheeky smile spread across Dean's face. He reached out an arm and beckoned. Then he waited to see if Castiel would follow.

Dean's smile got wider when Castiel stood to join him, even wider when Castiel took his outstretched hand. They walked together up the stairs and back into the bedroom. When the door closed behind them, Dean was the first to speak. "I'm, ah. Sorry about last night. I got too drunk and was acting stupid." Dean was still smiling easy, but he was watching Castiel's reactions closely. Cas met his gaze and held it, unsure of what to say. After a few seconds, Dean let out a self-conscious chuckle. "Don't hate me?"

"Of course not," Castiel said emphatically.

"Good." Dean nodded to himself. He looked away, and looked back with a renewed sense of purpose. "So, how about that unfinished business?" 

Castiel was confused until Dean stepped in close, palms rising to touch his vessel's midsection. Then he was concerned. "Are you sure?"

Dean quipped, "Well I woke up with a boner, so I'm pretty sure whiskey-dick won't be a problem." His hands groped under Castiel's layers, making Dean's case for him. Castiel could feel the purpose burning in each touch, and though he did not experience arousal as humans did, it stoked a fire within him regardless. "Wouldn't wanna leave you hangin'."

Dean was flippant, but Castiel saw through to the true meaning:  _I want to please you_.

He didn't trust his tongue, so Castiel simply nodded.

Dean's hands were more gentle in guiding Cas to the bed, steadier as Dean discarded his remaining clothes and climbed up to straddle Cas's thighs. He was as naked and shameless as Adam before the Fall, and already half-hard. Castiel couldn't help but be enraptured. Astonishingly, that very attention was enough to make Dean flush and stiffen, a hungry look overtaking his face.

Where Dean had been sloppy and frantic the night before, now he was confident and attentive. He slipped his fingers underneath Cas's shirt and jacket, slid his hands up and under, hiking up the layers to expose his vessel's belly. Then he looked Castiel straight in the eye and began to pleasure himself.

Castiel must have made some kind of sound, because Dean's face flashed with a cocky smile. "Yeah, you like that, huh?"

"Yes," Castiel said without thinking. This time it didn't seem to slow Dean down. If anything, it did the opposite. Dean licked his lips and quickened his pace, gently rocking back against Castiel as he stroked. Castiel ran his hands up Dean's thighs to feel the muscles tensing and flexing. He reached up to feel Dean's heartbeat quickening. All the while Castiel's gaze raked up and down Dean's body, absorbing as much as he could of the glorious sights and sensations Dean was producing.

Dean was panting now, grinding down against the angel. Castiel could feel Dean's knuckles moving against his belly, could feel in his own body the exact tempo of Dean's strokes. He could feel Dean straining against his natural tendency to thrust, and knew he was approaching climax.

Dean abruptly slowed, muscles unwinding. Worry flashed across Castiel's mind before Dean offered: "You want to give me a hand?"

When Castiel gripped Dean he applied the lessons he'd learned in previous encounters. He took a few slow pulls, gauging the pressure by the way Dean sighed and hummed. He knew he got it right when he felt a slickness under his hands. Dean's body was responding, preparing for what was to come. Castiel paced his speed both to draw out Dean's reactions and to preempt Dean's frustration. His attention narrowed to allow nothing but Dean, expanding to take in everything about Dean.

Dean's remaining inhibitions fell away as need and instinct took over. His head rolled back and his eyes squinted shut, his hips bucked and his toes curled, his ass grinding in time with the motion of Cas's hands. Every muscle and nerve worked in synchrony, reactive only and entirely to Castiel's touch.

"Cas..." The sound of his own name made coils of heat in Castiel's gut, winding tighter when Dean locked eyes with him. Dean's body began to tremble, his pupils dilating, his manhood growing thick and wet in Castiel's hands. "I'm so close. Give it to me. Please..." 

Castiel felt his own breathing quicken as he immediately complied. He moved faster and squeezed tighter, just as he remembered Dean liked it.

The angel's reward was immediate: Dean's whole body bucked on top of him, whimpering with each breath, wild and straining and impossibly gorgeous. Castiel could feel the moment of release, a sudden tightening mere instants before Dean's seed splashed against his belly. More splashes came in rhythmic pulses which subsided into a slow spill, just as Dean's whining gasps softened into contented sighs. Castiel stilled his hand as Dean stilled his body.

A smile dawned on Dean's face, and Castiel basked in the radiance of it. _He_ had been the cause of everything he'd just seen. _He_ had been an equal participant in an act of union with the man Dean Winchester - the man currently grinning satisfied in his lap.

"Better?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded breathlessly.

Dean laughed, "Damn you look good from this angle." He kicked himself off of Castiel, flopping onto the bed. 

Castiel turned his head to follow. He never wanted to look away. He could go on gazing into Dean's smiling eyes until the world ended and beyond.

From the way Dean was gazing back, it was even possible he felt the same.

Castiel watched Dean's face shift as they held each other's gaze, insecurity creeping back in as Dean came to his senses. Eventually Dean hoisted himself off the bed. Castiel sat up to watch him dress.

"So, uh..." Dean kept his eyes down as he clothed himself. "Thanks for being cool about everything. Keeping it on the down-low. It's nice to be able to just let out some tension without it being a big thing." Castiel could see Dean's guard come up with each word he spoke, each layer he pulled on. "I'm gonna hit the showers. Meet you downstairs, okay buddy?" The last question was rhetorical; Dean was already turning to walk out of the room.

Then he was gone.

Castiel went through the motions of cleaning himself up, righting the room, and returning to his expected place; but he was troubled. He'd seen such purity in Dean mere moments ago, as if a great weight had unburdened itself from his heart. He didn't understand why Dean was so quick to weigh himself back down.

There was so much that Castiel didn't understand. About Dean Winchester, about humanity, about the world.

Through God, all things would be possible. With God's help, he and the Winchesters could put all of this behind them. Perhaps Dean could then set down his burden for good. Perhaps then... they could... together...

But he was getting ahead of himself. Renewed in his purpose, Castiel left to continue his search for God. He knew he could find his Father. He just had to have faith.

 


	14. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during "Point of No Return" (S5E18).

_Maybe they're desperate. Maybe they wrongly assumed Dean would be brave enough to withstand them._

_Alright, you know what? Blow me, Cas._

* * *

 Abandoned by his Father and betrayed by Dean Winchester, Castiel was an open wound.

Every word that came from Dean's lips was another cut. He was truly, sincerely prepared to give in to Michael. Castiel wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't heard it with shameless certainty from Dean's own mouth.

By all reckoning Dean should consider everyone else in this house his enemy. Yet Dean didn't fight when Sam and Castiel led him downstairs. Despite his stated desire to become Michael's vessel, Dean didn't flee or struggle. Instead he sat himself casually on the panic room cot, as if sliding into a diner booth. "So, what, I just chill here until everything blows over?"

Sam sighed. "You _could_ come upstairs and help us find a way out of this."

"I _have_ found a way out of it," Dean snapped.

Sam's face twisted in disgust as he turned away. Castiel fixed his attention on Dean, paying little mind to Sam's receding footfalls.

Dean crossed his arms and leaned back, exhaling a frustrated sigh through his nose. His head turned sharply, as if just noticing Castiel in the room. "You my guardian angel now?" He shook his head and turned to face the wall. "Great."

"What were you planning to accomplish by propositioning me earlier?" Cas asked, unable to keep the rage from coloring his voice. Dean's head swiveled back towards Castiel, an incredulous expression on his face. The question mark on Dean's face annoyed Castiel further. He did his best sarcastic impression of Dean: " _Blow me_?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "We gotta get you a phrasebook or something."

"So that wasn't a serious proposition."

Dean snorted a laugh through his nose. Then he tipped his head, and eyed Castiel up. "Hell, why not?" Castiel stared uncomprehending as Dean adjusted himself, spread his legs a little wider, angling himself towards Castiel. "You wanna blow me?"

"Dean."

"Hey, you brought it up." Dean ran a hand up his own thigh, cupping his fingers at his groin, his thumb resting on his fly. Dean gave himself a squeeze and Castiel could see the shape of his cock through his jeans. "Now that we're alone, I'm down if you are." 

"What makes you think I would defile myself with Michael's vessel?" Castiel spat.

A deceptively easy grin came over Dean's face. "You've 'defiled yourself' with this, uh, 'vessel' plenty of times."

"I thought you were a different man."

Dean shrugged. "Different man, same body." Dean gave himself another squeeze to accentuate his words, half-hard now.

Castiel noticed, then was irritated with himself for noticing. "Why are you doing this?" Castiel asked, exasperated.

Dean shrugged. "Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out." Castiel found the self-satisfied look on Dean's face to be insufferable, as was the way he palmed the rising tent in his jeans. "This is a limited time offer. Take it or leave it." Dean was fully hard now, and he ran his fingers along the thick silhouette of his cock, showing off. "And I bet you take it real good."

Castiel turned to leave.

"Hey, Cas- Hey!" Dean called after Castiel as he stepped over the threshold. The door swung closed just as Dean found his feet, striding over to peer out the peephole at the back of Castiel's head. "Seriously, Cas, I don't see us getting another chance to, uh, fool around, or whatever. Not before the Apocalypse hits. I don't think you're waiting down here, alone, with me, just to play prison guard."

Castiel turned around and fixed Dean with an inscrutable gaze. Dean licked his lips and pressed onward. "Y'know, this might be my last night on earth. I dunno if that means anything to you, but... I don't want to spend it just sitting around, staring at the wall. I'd rather spend it with you. I'd rather feel something." Dean's mouth had gotten ahead of him, but the words rang true. And right now Dean didn't care enough to stop himself. "The way you make me feel, Cas, that's what I want. I want you."

Castiel's eyes went dark.

Dean wasn't sure whether that was good or bad, so he crossed his fingers and took a chance. "So... what do _you_ want?"

A beat of silence passed between them, Dean's pleading gaze meeting Castiel's impassive one. Words rose to Castiel's lips, but he bit them back, knowing that they wouldn't do either of them any good. Instead, he slammed the peephole shut.

Castiel's face softened, his shoulders slumping. He leaned into the the cold iron of the closed door. Before he turned and walked away, Castiel softly spoke the words on the tip of his tongue, the words he wished more than anything that Dean would hear and heed: 

"I want to believe in you again."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! I knowwwww, it's been forever since I've updated. Depression sucks, and sometimes it destroys my ability to be creative for months at a time. I appreciate your understanding and I hope that it was worth the wait!
> 
> Please do let me know what you think - constructive criticism pushes me to improve which is awesome, and encouraging comments help motivate me to update which is also awesome.


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